


A Warden's Celebration

by AvrielleRogue



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Alcohol, Ambushes and Sneak Attacks, Assassins & Hitmen, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Blow Jobs, Cunnilingus, Drunk Blow Jobs, Drunk Sex, Drunken Kissing, Drunkenness, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Oral Sex, Sex, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-16
Updated: 2017-05-20
Packaged: 2017-12-20 08:03:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 52
Words: 127,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/884919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AvrielleRogue/pseuds/AvrielleRogue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a short and steamy encounter with Alistair, Kalya Tabris' life is irrevocably changed. When Alistair leaves for duties in the Korcari Wilds, Kalya heads to Highever hoping to be recruited into the Wardens herself, but much more is at play that she could have possibly imagined. A retelling of Origins from a slightly different perspective.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Spotted Pig

Kalya hoped the barkeep could hear her stomach growling as she shined away nothingness on one of the spotless tables at the Spotted Pig Tavern. For 12 hours, she had swept floors, changed sheets, and emptied chamber pots at the Denerim manor of one of the lesser-known nobles in the capitol, and after being denied a job because of her race at the Gnawed Noble, the elf had begun waiting tables at the Spotted Pig a few nights prior. Sick of her aching hunger keeping her up all night, Kalya took a chance working late into the night with the hope she could nick a few scraps from customers' plates, or at least get a free drink or five out of the deal and actually fall asleep once in a while.

But scraps and rewarded-booze required customers, of which there had been 5 total in the nights since she'd started. Nolan the barkeep hadn't even asked her to change the linens in the paltry rented room in the back, even though it was supposedly the height of the traveling season. And although the capitol could be as bustling in the evenings as during the day, the Gnawed Noble had plenty of space and spirits for townspeople and tourists alike. There was almost no need for the Spotted Pig, save for the one thing that set it apart from its competitor: a loyal three-piece band (or six, when everyone showed up) whose members liked to blow off steam after a day at the Arl's estate by playing upbeat versions of the dignified songs. _Of course, they get their drinks for free, even without customers,_ thought Kalya. _The barkeep is probably grateful they're here to keep him awake._

"Oi," Nolan bellowed. Kalya jolted upright, afraid he'd noticed she'd been wiping the same corner of one table for almost 10 minutes now. "Ya think ya can make yourself useful?"

She scanned the small room trying to conceal the bemused expression that sometimes got her into trouble around humans. The only thing worse than an elf was a sarcastic one, it seemed. Her gaze finally fell on the tray of three steins of beer on the bar in front of Nolan, and she could hear his foot tapping impatiently.

"Oh," she stammered, "Sorry, ser. Right away." She nearly tripped on one of the high-legged stools as she rushed to grab the glasses.

"Yeah, no need to apologise. That table will dirty right back up the moment ya turn your back on it."

Kalya placed all three steins under the chairs of each of the musicians -- a flautist, drummer, and mandolin player -- and they nodded in appreciation without losing tempo. When she returned the tray to the bar, one more large stein sat before her. 

"Go on. Have yourself a drink. We're bound to get a rush soon, and skittish elves are bad for business."

He wasn't unkind. In fact, Nolan was infinitely more tolerant than the humans at the manor who barely spoke a word to her unless it was a barked order -- and even then, it was barked to the head maid _about_ her as if she weren't standing right there. Nolan treated Kalya like a human, but he _was_ still a businessman, and the past few nights had been anything but lucrative, especially when it came time to split tips with him. Still, it was an extra copper to buy some day-old bread from the elf-hating baker who was surely going to throw it away anyway.

Kalya grasped the stein and tried not to down it all in one gulp, especially on an empty stomach, but, Maker, the dark ale tasted good. 

"I was thinking ya might be able to... drum up some business."

"Me?" Kalya squeaked, nearly spitting out a mouthful. Nolan was clearly uncomfortable at the proposition and couldn't keep eye contact.

"Yeah, ya know. Nice girl like you -- maybe a guy would look twice and come in for a drink.

"But... I'm..."

"Yeah, I get it. Do you see many other birds around here? Maybe they'll think a bar with elves is exotic. Look, let's not get weird. Will ya do it or what?"

"I-I can try."

"That's all I ask," Nolan said, in an exaggerated bow.

The musicians, who had been quietly vamping in order to eavesdrop, now kicked up a rowdy rendition of "The Royal Courtesan," which Kalya assumed was intended for her. She narrowed her eyes toward them in mock anger, and the drummer gave her a wink of encouragement she slunk out the door.

The Spotted Pig was situated near the Alienage, which was not the safest area of the capitol, but Kalya hoped it was early enough that the true vagrants had yet to begin prowling the streets. She shivered a bit in her robes, unsure how to stand in such a way that looked inviting and warm to potential patrons. Propping the door open with a rock, she hoped the upbeat music emanating out would draw people near. An older couple hobbled past, and she caught a scowl on the man. _Yes_ , she thought, _a warm tavern, a night of merriment -- who would want such a thing? Didn't want your grumpy old face in here anyway._

Half an hour passed, and Kalya began leaning on the outdoor sign, straightening up whenever anyone came near. Largely, the cobblestone traffic were groups of young elves with no money returning to their homes, but there was the occasional lower noble who gave a reverent nod as they passed by.

She was about to abandon her post and beg for another bit of ale to replenish her resolve, when she heard a joyful commotion rounding the corner. At first, she was worried the rowdy laughter signaled a group that had either already had their fill of spirits and would pass by, or one that would become a potential danger by continuing the evening at such a pace. But when she saw the group of five men in full armor, she recognized them as Grey Wardens and straightened herself up. One or two gave the slightest of stutter steps as they made their way towards her, and Kalya imagined they had left their previous engagement -- likely at the crowded Gnawed Noble -- to keep up respectable appearances, rather than because the night was over.

Trying out her best "come hither," Kalya locked eyes on one of the Wardens, one with sandy blonde hair and the faintest hint of freckles peppering his face. Drawn deep into her eyes, she found herself frozen, unable to look away, and the Warden sheepishly smiled back at her and dipped his head in greeting. Blinking to regain her composure, she scanned his companions, searching for the right moment to invite them in. 

"What have we here?" said the shorter Warden leading the crew, reading the sign propped on the cobblestone. "The Spotted Pig?"

"We're stopping," said the man next to him with a smile. "It's not even midnight. We can't end the celebration yet!"

The sandy-haired man jabbed the only one in their group without a smile in the ribs playfully. "I don't know. Riordan has an early bedtime."

Riordan uncrossed his arms and a faint smile crept across his face. The final Warden, an older gentleman with a dark beard, smiled warmly at his compatriots. "We're celebrating you, Alistair. It's a rare evening to welcome such a skilled warrior into the Wardens, and even rarer we have a moment to celebrate."

"Then the Spotted Pig it is!" Alistair exclaimed. He bowed deeply to Kalya. "My lady, would you do us the honor of showing us into your establishment?"

"Y-yes, ser. Please come this way."


	2. Wine, Woman, and Song

"Have you ever met a Warden, m'lady?" asked the shorter gentleman, earning his own elbow in the ribs from Alistair.

In truth, Kalya had idolized the Grey Wardens since she was a child, for a time even presuming she might join them. An elf can learn a lot about dirty fighting on the merciless streets of the Alienage after dark. But that dream was shattered when Kalya came of age and realized the Grey Wardens had no use for a too-skinny girl who stabs people from the shadows.

"Wesley, let's try to keep it cool this time," Alistair said, stealing another glance at Kalya. "I don't need Duncan physically removing us from _this_ tavern as well." The man next to Wesley snorted. "You're no better, Joran. I'd prefer your dance moves kept to the floor region and leave the table region for setting our beers on."

The bearded gentleman, Duncan, chuckled softly. "I don’t think the Gnawed Noble was ready for a rousing game of 'Watch the Warden Drink From the Barrel' this early in the evening." Looking around at the empty tavern, he added, "But I think this place should suit your antics just fine. For tonight."

"Yes, yes, could be a Blight tomorrow," Wesley waved his hand. "For now, we celebrate."

Kalya sat the group at the largest center table and headed to the bar, where Nolan was practically falling over himself to fill up as many steins at once as he'd filled over the last week.

"Offer them the special," he whispered.

"What's the special?"

"I dunno. Make one up. They could stay for hours!"

Kalya could tell how excited this prospect made Nolan. He refilled a stein after a large splash of ale had escaped over the top – something he'd never bothered to do when serving the lone customer wandering in for one drink.

She grasped all five handles in her hands and carefully hoisted them over to the men, careful not to spill another drop. Other elves at the manor where she spent her days had taught her the rules of serving nobles, and though she had never been allowed to actually fill the role herself before tonight, she made sure to serve each of them from the left, placing the drink within arm's reach. She wasn't surprised when they continued their conversations without acknowledging her, but she felt proud just the same. Right as she was about to set the final mug before Alistair, he reached out to take it gently from her grasp, brushing her fingers as he nodded his head and gave a shy smile. Without thinking, she gave him a curtsy and spun on her foot so quickly to hide her rapidly flushing face, she worried she might spin herself in a full circle.

Returning to the far end of the bar, not quite out of sight of the table, Kalya busied herself once again with shining nonexistent smudges off the pristine wood finish. Nolan slid another stein down to her, and she shot a glance to the table, worried one had finished already and she had already let them down.

"That's for ya to cool down, missy," he said. "And swing your hips a little for that fair-haired lad. He's barely looked at his friends since the lot walked in with ya."

"Nolan!" She started to protest, but instead shook the comment from her mind and began downing the icy-cool beverage, which _was_ actually starting to give her a bit more confidence.

Kalya refilled their drinks once more without much incident, and having steeled herself for another adorable nod, this time, she was even able to give one in return. Nolan got to fire up his pristine grill with a rare food order for the chatty Wardens. The intoxicating smells of cooked meats got the musicians licking their lips, and the barkeep sheepishly threw a few extra scraps on for the help. 

The merriment was contagious. As the mix of music, aromas, and laughter wafted into the street, a few more stragglers made their way into the Spotted Pig to sit at the bar and drink away the remainder of the night.

Wesley raised his hand and, a bit sloppily, spun around on his stool to signal to Kalya another round for the group. Duncan craned his neck around Wesley's head, bemused, and shook his head slowly to her, holding up four fingers, but Wesley eclipsed him again and insisted over the music she should really bring five.

Not wanting to upset the Wardens, she rushed to their table to take the order directly, with what she considered to be a compromise... sort of.

"Another round, if you would, my lady," Wesley slurred.

"I was wondering if you would, uh, like to try tonight's special."

"And what might that be?" asked Joran.

Kalya scanned behind the bar for something that wasn't ale. "Antivan whiskey. Only 10 silver."

"10 silver?!" Westley hooted, slamming his fist dramatically on the table.

"Well, it's usually 12... I can just get more ale, though, if you'd --"

"We'll take 5 shots of Antivan whiskey, my lady," said Alistair. "It _is_ a celebration, and I'll be playing _that_ card for as long as I still can."

Kalya hurried behind the bar and filled up the small glasses on her own, while Nolan made conversation with the patrons at the counter. Grasping the slippery little glasses in her hands, Kalya returned to the Wardens, trying to sway her hips _and_ walk a straight line, which was getting more difficult with every passing moment as the ale worked its way through her body.

More lubricated than when they arrived, each of the men were suddenly now suave enough to pause their conversation and thank Kalya profusely. When she arrived at Duncan, he politely refused the second-to-last glass in her hand.

"Someone has to make sure these Wardens find their way back to the inn," he said warmly.

Kalya stood blinking at Alistair with a shot in each hand, and even in the poor lighting, she could swear she saw him blushing.

"Share a drink with me, my lady?" he said, smiling. "For good luck."

When she continued to stand there gaping at him, he took her hand in his... and deftly slipped the glass out from her grasp.

"I need you," Alistair said, and only then did he break eye contact with her. "It. Your luck, that is. But...not that I don't also need..." Alistair intertwined his arm around Kalya's, still holding the shot, and he all but shouted, "For Ferelden!"

Kalya leaned in, arm locked around his thin mail, and downed the strong liquid inches from Alistair's face as her heart pounded.

It burned its way down her throat, making her insides warm, and she could feel herself beginning to care less and less that her face kept flushing constantly whenever she was near him.

At that moment, the musicians struck up a lively song quite popular in Denerim, and all the Wardens, save for Duncan, sprang out of their seats, heading for the clear dancing space between the small stage and the surrounding tables.

Already tugging her arm towards the dancing area, Alistair caught himself and allowed Kalya a deep bow. “May I have this dance?” His hazel eyes twinkled in the dim lantern light.

“I don’t know how to --“

“Nonsense. Are you watching these guys? None of us do. Trust me, you’re in great company. Although... I _would_ like to know the name of my lovely dance partner.”

“My name is Kalya," she said, with another slight curtsy and immediately felt silly. She was introducing herself to a handsome Warden, not greeting a noble at court.

"Maker, that's a beautiful name," said Alistair. "I've never heard one like it."

"It's Dalish. Er, so I'm told."

They joined the other Wardens, and she could see he wasn’t exaggerating. The group gyrated awkwardly, hopping about and clapping off-tempo, but they didn’t seem to care, and neither did she. Alistair twirled her around and spun her out to arm’s length, pulling her in quickly and almost toppling her off her feet. Luckily, she caught her balance by stomping on his foot.

"And you said you didn't dance," said Alistair, chuckling.

"I said I _couldn't_ dance. I've danced plenty before, but somehow dancing with other people is never as graceful as when I'm alone."

"You dance alone often?" Alistair's eyebrow raised, and Kalya felt her face blooming red once again. "I'm fine, by the way." He wiggled his ankle before her. "I've got another one right here."

"You said _you_ didn't dance! Then you go spinning me ‘round like we’re at an Arl’s ball." She folded her arms in mock a pout.

"Oh, trust me. I've brought plenty of girls to their knees with more than a stomp to the foot, I can tell you that."

Kalya's arms dropped, and her heart thundered inside her ribcage. Her mind raced as she tried to stomp out images of her dancing partner with significantly less armor on, and she couldn't stop herself smirking. "Do tell me, how else have you brought girls to their knees?"

Now it was Alistair's turn to radiate various shades of red. He cleared his throat awkwardly and let out a deep breath as he resumed awkward dancing.

“Quite a sound for just three guys, eh?” he said over the music.

“We _could_ have six,” she offered and Alistair’s eyes widened suddenly. Kalya’s mind swam through the thickening haze, and she couldn’t tell if he looked horrified or piqued with interest.

“C-Come again?”

“We could have six. Musicians. The other three prefer another tavern, but they do drop by sometimes.”

Alistair let out another deep breath. “That is NOT what I thought you said.” He flashed her a meek smile and grasped her tiny hands in his, beginning a slower dance. "Do you always have this affect on people?"

"What's that?" Kalya asked. She was beginning to have trouble concentrating on both conversation and dancing, and she worried a bit she'd been rude earlier. At least she was confident enough to talk to him at all, for which she thanked the ale.

"The ability to halt all mental activity and replace it with awkward mishearings and inappropriate urges."

"Urges?" she asked, eyebrow raising slightly. Now she was _sure_ he could feel her heartbeat through the hand Alistair was holding. Was she tipsy, or was he actually coming on to her? Or was he cursed with saying the wrong thing and hoping she didn't misinterpret it?

"You know, I _should_ blame it on the drinks -- the many drinks -- I've had at your tavern... and... before I came to your tavern, but let's be honest. I'm just as daft and awkward when I haven't had a drop." He pulled her close to him. "But I insist I'm much more charming when the person I'm speaking to is more... on my level. Can I interest you in another drink, my lady?"

"I really shouldn't," Kalya started, "I _was_ supposed to be working, but Nolan wanted me to make sure you lot were taken care of."

"And how better to take care of me than by saving me from the company of those macho brutes?" He gestured to his fellow Wardens. "With them, it's always Blight this and darkspawn that. Your company for the past hour has been a beacon of light in an otherwise seriously depressing existence."

Kalya cast a sideward glance at him. "I hardly think one such as you would lead a depressed existence."

"Oh, you should see me brood. I'm quite good. I was voted best brooder in my class at the Chantry."

Alistair laid his hand on the small of Kalya's back, ever so gently maneuvering her away from the dance floor.

"All right," she said finally. "I'll take your drink -- one drink. I don't want to provoke a brood, after all."

"A lady as lovely as yourself? You're like an anti-brood. Any man would need but glance at you to cure himself of gloominess." 

Alistair laid his arm on the bar as they approached. "If you're worried about the barkeep, though, you needn't." They glanced down the bar and saw that Nolan had joined the two new customers at their table, all but abandoning the bar. When he noticed them smirking at him, his eyes widened and he gestured for them to continue talking.

"See? He gives his blessing. Isn't that cute? It's like he's paying you to talk to me."

_More like taking half my tips to talk to you_ , she thought, although she surely didn't mind the perks.

"I think you'll find you tolerate my personality a bit more after you've tied one more on," Alistair said.

"I'm actually quite enjoying your personality. But I do make it a point to never turn down free food... or drinks."

"Enjoying me, are you?" he said, eyeing her suspiciously. "Maybe you _have_ had too much."

Kalya gave Alistair's shoulder what she meant to be a playful punch and rounded the bar to pour them some drinks. Alistair rubbed his arm dramatically.

"Are you sure you're not up to be a Warden, slugger? You pack quite a punch." He flashed her grin that made her feel weak in the knees. Kalya busied herself looking for glassware. "I could certainly use the company."

She poured two small tumblers with Antivan whiskey -- a bit more liberally than Nolan had poured them. He could consider it an advance on her tips for bringing them in, if he noticed anyway.

"Trust me, ser, if I had the coin, I'd leave the Alienage tonight. Er, after this drink, of course."

Alistair's shoulders dropped a bit, and he gazed back at her with what looked like pity. She inwardly kicked herself for the brooding of her own on this otherwise cheerful occasion.

"You actually live in there? I'd -- I'd heard it's quite dangerous, especially at night."

Kalya chuckled, "How do you think I learned how to pack a punch?" Alistair didn't join her laughter, and she started feeling really uncomfortable. She grasped the tumbler in her hand, holding the glass up before him. Alistair intertwined his arm in hers as he'd done before. 

"To Ferelden?" she asked.

"To you, my dear lady," and he leaned in so close to her face, Kalya was sure he was going to kiss her and she readied herself eagerly, but at the last stalled moment, he hugged her arm into his and tipped back the shot. She followed suit, relieved, but also a bit disappointed.

What was she thinking? She barely knew this man, and suddenly she was allowing herself to feel all warm in her... womanly regions. It was true what she'd said earlier, there had been other "dance partners," but each of them were broke friends she'd known for a long time with nothing else to do than pass the time alone together. She'd never been in a relationship and had never actually understood the urge, until now. Now, when she looked at the man standing next to her, with his chiseled face and sandy, perfectly tousled hair, she suddenly wanted to know everything about him, to have him joke with her at all hours in the night, to share a meal by his side -- and not just for the meal, either. Beginning to sweat and gulping hard, Kalya refilled the tumblers.

"One drink becomes two, I see. I _am_ a bad influence," Alistair said, with a hint of slurring overtaking his words. This time, he extended _his_ arm in the air, and Kalya coiled hers around it.

"To you, my Grey Warden," she said, with ever more confidence as the night went on.

"Please, call me Alistair," he said warmly. "And for the record, I'm uncomfortable with a toast to me, but I suppose I just did it to you, and fair's fair."

"To new friends, then," she said.

"To new friends."

Kalya downed the warm liquid and made a face. She could feel the flush return to her cheeks, although it wasn't from embarrassment this time. Alistair lowered his glass and chuckled softly, brushing her cheek with his hand.

"I can't help it!" she exclaimed. Her limbs were beginning to feel heavy. "I don't know why my face does that."

"On the contrary, love, I think rosy cheeks are very becoming on you."

A bit clumsily, Alistair slid the glasses away from them down the bar, and one caught an edge and went tumbling over the counter. Kalya’s hand instinctively shot out and caught it midair, having barely turned her head.

Alistair stared at her for a moment and then shook his head in disbelief. “You are just full of surprises, aren’t you? If you’re an apostate, we may need to have an awkward conversation later.”

Kalya chuckled. “I’m no mage. Although a few fireballs on the treacherous walk home _would_ come in more handy than the stunning ability to catch a glass.” She could not believe she brought up her depressing living situation again, and tried to make the moment pass by laughing meekly at her own joke.

Alistair searched her face for a few moments before sighing deeply and declaring, "All right, I've corrupted you enough." He seemed to be speaking very carefully. "I don't want you thinking I was trying to liquor you up. It's just a day for celebration is all. I survived my Joining. Yay!" 

Wistfully, Alistair looked over at the Grey Wardens dancing, the scattered other patrons laughing, and then back into Kalya's eyes with a half smile. He looked quite satisfied with his evening. The musicians continued to mirror the mirth in the room and seemed to be playing louder and louder, possibly hoping for more patrons dropping by from the outside to leave them tips.

The blush on Kalya's face didn't seem to be letting up, and her robes were beginning to feel quite hot. She lifted a hand to begin fanning herself, but as she let go of the bar, she realized that hand had been playing a crucial role in keeping her balance upright. Alistair caught her in his strong arms right before she swooped into the bar.

Kalya wanted to make a joke about his _own_ deft skill at catching things, but it seemed her mouth didn’t want to form words. She watched him gulp as he held her, looking thankful to have caught her in time and not eager to let her go. Her blood began to rush southward, and she got the distinct impression that Alistair was too much of a gentleman to actually do what she had been aching for. Kalya reached up, softly touching the sides of his face, closed her eyes, and kissed him deeply. She had expected it to last only a second or so, but he wasn't pulling away, so she dared to bite his lip tenderly. Doing so seemed to harden his resolve, and he pushed hungrily against her mouth, parting her lips with his own.


	3. First Knight

Alistair's arms enveloped her more tightly, and she got an urge to wrap her legs around him, but she didn't dare. She may have been more than tipsy, but she was still aware they were in the open, much as she didn't want to admit it. Just as suddenly as he'd caught her in his grasp, Alistair pulled away from her, possibly having come to a similar realization -- at least, she _hoped_ it was just bashfulness.

"Would you be terribly offended if we went somewhere a bit more private?" she asked.

"My thoughts exactly," he said. "They can entertain themselves like that for several more hours, I'm sure."

Kalya took Alistair by the hand and led him into the empty back room of the tavern, hoping no one was watching them, but rapidly caring less and less. She closed the door behind them and turned the lock.

"Maker, I do hope you're not an assassin," said Alistair, spinning around clumsily with a half-worried smile.

Kalya mentally thanked Andraste her switchblade was still behind the bar in her small satchel. Of course, she had never actually killed anyone, but it bought her precious seconds clipping a wing or two when threatened in the various darkened alleys between the manor and her tiny rented room in the Alienage.

Staring at Alistair in the dim light, it was easy enough to play it straight and nonthreatening, as she was suddenly quite eager to see if the armorless images of him flowing through her head at a feverish pace were as accurate as she imagined.

"I'm not, but if someone _does_ pick the lock, I always keep my playful arm-punch at the ready. And you can always get Grey Warden on them, if you like."

"I’ll await your command, my lady," Alistair said, bowing deeply. His deep, dulcet voice reverberated through her bones and left a tickle of anticipation inside her. Kalya took a step closer to him, biting her lip with nervous energy. _Just go for it,_ a voice in her head urged.

"I don't suppose you'd... want to remove some of that armor," she said. "I know how Antivan whiskey warms the body." She licked her lips unconsciously in anticipation.

"See now," Alistair began, sounding as nervous as she felt, "that's _just_ what an assassin would say. I think it's only fair you... prove you're not wearing daggers under that beautiful robe."

Kalya slipped her robes over her head quickly enough to watch Alistair shrug out of his armor, and it seemed like time slowed down, although her heart was nearing a rabbit’s pace. Unable to control herself any longer, she strode unabashedly toward him, yearning to touch the unsheathed muscular arms that had embraced her moments ago. Alistair seemed only too eager to have her near and grasped her around the waist. This time, he allowed himself a sheepish move to kiss her, but he hadn't expected her eagerness to push him backwards on the scratchy bed.

"Sorry, I'm sorry," she said, pawing the comforter back. "The sheets are much softer. This room is rarely used."

Alistair clucked his tongue. "And the barkeep looked like such the ladies’ man." 

Kalya detected a look of relief on his face as she threw the covers off the bed, but through her clouded thoughts she couldn't suss out why. Was it because she was taking the initiative so he didn't have to? Wait, was it relief that _she_ didn't use the room often?

"I want you to know," she said thickly, "I'm not usually like this with... gentlemen. Very few, actually."

"Well, that's a relief. I'd hate for _neither_ of us to know what we're doing." He chuckled awkwardly, looking very much like he wished he hadn't said that.

"Actually, there's something I've always wanted to try, if you would permit me." She could scarcely believe how bold she was being, but she'd never forgive herself if she didn't at least attempt the act. This was the best-looking man she'd ever seen, much less one who seemed to enjoy her company. 

Suddenly breathing very heavily, whether from nervousness or anticipation, Alistair smiled at her in the flickering light. "I surrender to your every request, my Kalya."

Hearing her name on Alistair's tongue send a shiver coursing through her entire body, and she had to restrain herself to move slowly, so as not to tear his smallclothes from him.

Weaving between his legs, which dangled off the edge of the bed, she lowered herself to the floor, pleased to discover he was just as eager as she was. She detected a tremble in his left leg, and she smoothed it with a soft touch.

"I don't have to, if you're not --" she began, and Alistair interrupted her, speaking entirely too fast.

"No, no, could die tomorrow. Please carry on. Definitely _not_ thinking of the Chantry or the Reverend Mother or what they would say."

Kalya grinned and bit her lip with new resolve. She began kissing Alistair's trembling leg, and it slowed again as she worked her way toward his center. Inhaling deeply, she paused, hovering over his manhood, the pulse of her heavy breaths seeming to excite him even more.

Unable to bear it any longer, she grasped him gently and guided him into her mouth. Alistair moaned softly, a moan of hunger and unmeasured yearning for more. She shielded the sharp edge of teeth with her lips to add a bit of pressure as she glided along him slowly.

When her girl friends back at the alienage exchanged tawdry stories of their own experiences, she could never imagine what they would possibly get out of this particular act. But hearing Alistair's longing whimpers with each of her deep thrusts was getting her almost as excited as being pleasured herself.

Keeping a steady pace with her hand, Kalya drew her head back to free her tongue, which she used to trace a slow swirl around Alistair's member. She took him in as deep as she could go, careful not to hurt him, while parting her teeth just enough to brush against him tantalizingly. He seemed to appreciate the gesture, now grasping bunches of the soft sheets in his fists and arching his back ever so slightly with undone passion. Kalya rotated between techniques, picking up the pace with each transition until Alistair was near whimpering with every thrust. His body was now shaking all over, this time with measured restraint.

Kalya hadn't wanted to let him have all the fun, however, and she slowed her pace before apologetically abandoning her work and crawling up the bed to meet his face.

"Maker have mercy," Alistair breathed. "You said you've never _done_ that before?!"

"No," she said softly. "But I _have_ had a lot of time to think about it. A lot of time."

"Well, you must have an exquisite imagination."

Kalya swung her leg over Alistair's torso, straddling him. "This part, I _have_ done," she admitted a bit sheepishly.

"In that case, I am but your willing student."

"This is okay, right?" she asked, hesitating to move down any further. "You mentioned the Chantry, but you're a Grey Warden now."

"Yes, yes, Grey Wardens are... encouraged to indulge in, er, 'pleasurable relaxation,' what with the cheerful mortality rate and all." He reached up and took both her arms in a steely grasp. "And being with you, my dear, has been _very_ pleasurable." 

With that vote of confidence, Kalya slid back and again hovered above him as Alistair gazed longingly into her eyes. She was still in her smallclothes, but she quickly unhooked her bra and flung it onto the floor, which drew a light gasp from Alistair that she found amusing. 

Unwilling to waste another moment by taking off her lower intimates, she slid aside the trimming on one leg and guided him into her as she lowered herself around him. This drew a gasp from her apprentice lover, and she leaned forward to ride him more vigorously. The look on Alistair's face of shock, gratitude, and disbelief was so arousing to Kalya, she gently but eagerly slammed back down against him after cresting each wave. 

It had never felt like this before. He looked so desirous and thankful, all for something that gave her such equal pleasure.  She ground her hips against his to change up the rhythm, and that seemed to rouse Alistair into action, thrusting upwards to meet her at every peak. 

His newfound confidence took Kalya by surprise, and she gasped and squealed with pleasure. "Oh, Alistair," she breathed, gripping his shoulders tight.

Her reaction seemed to energize him even more, and he tucked a strong arm behind her back and guided her softly down to the bed. Alistair rolled her to her back and straddled above her on all fours, gazing longingly into Kalya's eyes.

"You must forgive me, love," he gulped hard. "I can't promise to match what you've just made me feel, but I'd like to try something _I've_ given a lot of thought to. If my lady would permit me."

"Anything," she breathed, feeling as if she'd melt into the bed.

Alistair lowered himself hesitantly, seeming unsure how to initiate the first steamy bits. In response, Kalya wrapped her legs around his torso as she'd imagined earlier, and the rush of pleasure seemed to give him the boost he desired. Alistair drove into her, and it was all Kalya could do not to scream with passion enough to silence the musicians outside. She bit her lip to keep the screams to excited yelps as Alistair pumped furiously, occasionally slowing down to draw out his stamina, while gazing hungrily into her eyes.

The pangs of ecstasy drove Kalya wild, and she simultaneously couldn't take any more and never wanted this to end. She tilted her hips upward, at first worried it would make it more difficult for Alistair to enter her, but the angle allowed him a deeper entrance, and she moaned with euphoria.

Kalya unfurled her legs as wave after wave of rapture built up inside her body. She grasped the headboard to hold her body steady, giving Alistair the anchor to drive even deeper without scooting her tiny frame with the force of his passion.

Alistair tightened his grip on her waist, only breaking eye contact to nip her playfully up and down her neck and collarbone. When he pulled his head back to better witness her passion, Kalya began to feel a strange sensation building she hadn't experienced before.

When her friends at the Alienage asked in whispers if she had ever "finished" the act, she looked at them strangely, not entirely understanding. She was pretty sure she had, because she'd enjoyed the whole experience and then it was over, but they insisted she would _know_ if she’d truly finished.

Grinding her hips against each of Alistair's fevered pumps, Kalya felt a pressure growing that strengthened her resolve to take him deeper and deeper still. Alistair's eyes grew wide, and she squeezed muscles she didn't know she had control of, causing him to gasp with passion. Suddenly, the tension became too much for her, and her squeals turned into ravenous moans with every thrust. Alistair's panting echoed her own and a wave of ravishment overcame her, radiating outwards through her body in every direction. She continued squeezing, now whimpering with ecstasy, as her partner reached his own crescendo, shuddering with passion as he filled her body the way it yearned to be filled.

With one last gasp of pleasure, Alistair collapsed next to her. After a few moments of reverent panting to catch his breath, he scooped up her torso and drew her nearer to him, hugging her tightly.

"That... I don't... words," he said, and Kalya just nodded in agreement. She hugged the arm encircling her, and sighed once more with deep satisfaction as she drifted off to sleep.


	4. Turning Point

The morning sun was just beginning to rise when Alistair carefully rocked Kalya's shoulders to rouse her from sleep. The sun pierced straight into her eyeballs, and her head began throbbing dully. She carefully flipped around to meet Alistair's face.

"Did you sleep well, my love?" he asked.

"I did. I don't want to admit I wish I were asleep still, but seeing you here ranks a very close second." She smiled at him, although his eyes looked sober. "How did  _you_  sleep?"

"I... didn't want to sleep. I needed every last hour to memorize exactly how you've made me feel. I don't want to forget it as long as I live."

Kalya couldn't ignore that Alistair's eyes weren't matching his impish smile the way she had grown used to seeing in the short time she'd known him.

"You have to leave with the Wardens," she guessed, although it came out like more matter-of-factly than she intended.

Alistair let out a deep breath. "I'm afraid I do, love. And I actually spent a good part of the morning working out how to do this in the least awkward way possible."

Kalya began closing up and was instantly angry at herself for being so petty. She'd certainly expected this, but she half hoped he would have left her in the night as she slept. With no sense of closure, she wouldn't have to remember the painful, awkward part most men would be tripping over themselves to avoid.  _No_ , she thought.  _Alistair is a good man, Maker be damned._

"I don't mind," she said suddenly. "You don't have to... say anything. I sincerely wish you the best on your journey. I'll pray for your safe travels at the chantry."

"No, it's not that," Alistair began. "I mean, thank you. I certainly need it. But... I wanted to give you a gift."

Alistair rose and walked to a pouch by his light armor, sheepishly slipping on his smallclothes in the process.

"This is awkward, because I don't want you to feel like... This is a  _gift_ , as I said."

Kalya narrowed her eyes, unsure what to steel herself for. He reached into his pouch and pulled out 5 sovereigns, dropping them into her open palm.

"I couldn't work out how to give you this without... cheapening what we had together. This isn't a payment or anything. Perish the thought. I want you to use it to get out of the Alienage. It's much too dangerous there for a beautiful woman."

Alistair put his hand on her shoulder as she continued to stare wide-eyed into her palm.

"I've heard there's a band of Dalish elves who travel throughout Ferelden. You can use this money to hitch a ride with some traveling dwarves. Or you can go to any town you please. Just please keep yourself safe."

Her eyes welled up with tears, and for once, she didn't know how to respond. Her body began to shake, and Alistair looked terrified that he had done the wrong thing. He bent his knee to the floor and softly lifted her chin to meet his eyes.

"I haven't offended you, have I?"

Kalya sniffled and gulped back a sob. She searched his eyes for some hint of a joke and found nothing but longing. "I make 30 silver a week at the manor, and that all goes to rent. I've never... I've never seen  _one_  sovereign."

"So you'll promise me?" he asked. As she nodded, he drew her into an embrace. A tear rolled down her cheek, and she hugged him tightly, lifting a hand to wipe it away before he could see.

"Grey Wardens are needed all over Ferelden," he said finally, drawing back but keeping her shoulders grasped in his strong hands. "Who knows? We may even meet again, Maker willing."

She let out a light chuckle. "I shall pray for that too at the chantry."

"Right before you leave Denerim," he said, in a mock admonishing tone.

"Right before I leave Denerim," she nodded. "I'll make sure to find a town with a chantry, just so I can continue to pray for you."

"As long as you remain safe, I will gladly take any prayers you're willing to give."

Alistair stood up and slipped his armor back on slowly, not eager for their time to be at an end.

"I-I can't thank you enough for this," Kalya said, curling her fingers around the gold as he slipped on his boots. He took her hand and kissed it softly as he bowed.

"It's I who should be thanking you. You'll never know what an honor it was to meet you, my lady. My new purpose in life is to swiftly defeat the darkspawn that I may meet you once again someday, if not only to thank you again for what we shared last night."

With a heavy sigh, he looked around the room, as if desperate to find anything else that would take up his time. Finding nothing, he rushed to kiss Kalya so deeply she felt she must have lifted off the bed.

"Until we meet again, my love," he said, bowing deeply.

Kalya dipped her head towards him. "Maker's blessings, Ser Alistair."

With that, Alistair was off to aid the Grey Wardens in their fight against the archdemon. Kalya lay back on the bed. In the silent hour that followed, she was surprised to find within herself not sadness, but hope for her new life. Once she'd formulated a plan for leaving Denerim and beyond, she rose from the bed, slipped on her robes, and tucked the sovereigns into a few hidden pockets in her sleeves.

Kalya took a deep breath, exhaled, and left the room a free woman.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for this chapter being so short, but thanks to the advice of some very kind commenters, I'm expanding this story into a full tale. It was just intended to be fluff, but now I've gotten curious about where the Blight will take Kalya, and I've plotted out some interesting circumstances, I think. I can't thank you enough for your kind comments, and keep up the great advice! I told my beta reader (to whom I'm married) how I wanted it to end, and, well, he has different ships than me, so there are a few different ways it could end up!
> 
> Thanks you so much for following and reading!


	5. Rock and a Hard Place

Kalya shifted on a sack of rice as the cart dipped and pitched over the rough terrain. The wind whipping between the winding foothills brought a refreshing aroma of nature unimaginable to someone who had lived in the cramped streets of Denerim since birth. Tucking a tendril of her short auburn hair behind her ear, she closed her eyes to the sun, almost completely able to ignore the fact that these dwarves seemed to now be _aiming_ for holes in the road.

In two days’ time, she would arrive at what was said to be the most beautiful sight in all Ferelden: the northern town of Highever. She just hoped she wouldn’t be seeing it for the first time through a wince from saddle sores. The sun beamed down on her pale face, and Kalya welcomed the warmth, determined to reach her destination with a fuller crop of freckles than she’d ever had. The noblewomen of Denerim hated elves with freckles, thinking it made them look cornfed and dimwitted, as if they’d ever be treated as anything more anyway. It was refreshing not to have to worry about pleasing a pompous human master ever again.

The past week had been a blur of activity. True to her promise to Alistair, she had left the dangerous Alienage in Denerim to seek more peaceful pastures. It had come at quite a cost, but luckily the gift of five sovereigns – given out of pity or gratitude, she wasn’t sure which and not sure she minded – covered all her expenses.

The majority of coin had gone to the two dwarves who had agreed to take her as far as Highever while they continued west to sell their wares. With the remainder, Kalya purchased some tanned leather armor and two daggers with ivory handles – exceedingly light and aerodynamic. Peaceful pastures they may be, but safety in blade numbers never hurt.

Saying goodbye to Nolan was bittersweet, but his family owned the tavern and he certainly wouldn’t starve without her shabby waitressing. There was no ceremony around leaving her day job at the manor, although she would have liked to go out in a blaze of glory, setting fire to the kitchen or stabbing the noble’s lecherous son in the privates. A girl could still dream.

Athough she’d lived in the Alienage her whole life, the elves with whom she spent her rare downtime were little more than acquaintances, with the occasional boring one-night or two-week stand. She _would_ miss gossiping with her friend Malana, who was charming enough to rack up more one-night stands than most, but the girl couldn’t seem to hold down a steady job. Kalya left some old serving clothes so Malana could take over her job at the manor if she wanted – not that any humans would notice it was a completely different elf.

The Coastlands were mountainous and dry, but soon they would emerge into the lush green clearing of the Highever Foothills. Still, Kalya was enamored with the dusty layered rocks jutting from the ground in every direction. Compared to the cramped capitol, she suddenly felt very foreign and enraptured at the same time.

A glint from behind a dark rock caught her eye as they rounded a corner, startling her from her reverie.

“Bodahn,” she hissed suddenly, “stop the cart!”

The dwarf turned around to see what Kalya was going on about when the first of the bandits descended upon them.  Without thinking, Kalya slithered down the back of the cart and crawled underneath. There was a chance neither assailant had seen her. From underneath the vehicle, she watched as Sandal, Bodahn’s simple ward, stormed off towards the men until Bodahn stopped him with a stiff but unwavering arm. The bandit whose weapon had tipped Kalya off appeared from around a large rock to join the first attacker.

“N-Now, we don’t need no trouble,” Bodahn said. “Fact, why don’t you take a look at what we’ve got here, and we can call it even? Anything you like.”

“Tell ya what,” one of the men grumbled. “We take the cart, everything on it, and I slit ya throat for that pretty little amulet you got ‘round ya neck.”

Kalya could hear Bodahn gulp as adrenaline coursed through her veins. Her mind began racing through attack scenarios, but this was no dark alley. There was no way to make a frontal assault with their strength, and it was too light in the afternoon sky to use shadows as a cover for a sneak attack from the side. She searched the ground for a rock whose sound might distract them in another direction, but nothing was large enough.

“N-Nonsense. I mean, you can have it, but I’ve got three more right in the back there. Sandal, be a good boy and show these nice men some of our wares.”

Sandal stomped to the back of the cart as Kalya spun around in the dirt silently. She slowly peered out at him, out of view of their assailants, and pressed a finger to her lips, willing him to look at her without making a sound or wrong expression. Sure enough, they locked eyes, and Sandal’s usually blank expression held a wild rage she’d never seen.

Slowly she lowered her finger, nodding back to the men. Sandal kept his eyes locked on her as he busied inside a bag, and Kalya knew he could understand. For the past week’s ride, she didn’t think Bodahn gave him nearly enough credit for all he picked up on. Now to put that to the test. She pointed to him and traced a half circle towards her in the dirt, then keeping eyes locked on him, pushed both hands out in front of her.

Without any indication of comprehension, Sandal grasped a few spare amulets in his huge hands and slunk back around the cart.  Kalya sighed in mild defeat and spun back around, keeping an eye out for any chance to strike.

Sandal’s heavy feet padded over to the far side of the two bandits, placing them between him and the cart, while Bodahn wrung his hands off to the side. Had he understood after all? From Kalya’s vantage point, she could see Sandal delicately holding the amulets up to their eye level to study.

“Enchantment?” he asked.

In the blink of an eye, Sandal dropped both amulets and shoved each man with as much strength as she had ever seen from a dwarf, barely budging from the effort at half their size. Kalya had daggers primed as both men ricocheted off the cart, knocking it backwards and revealing her position. Lunging forward, she sliced an Achilles tendon on each bandit before they could even unsheathe their own weapons. Sandal fell upon the more vocal of the tormentors, and they both crumpled to the ground.

In the following moments, time seemed to slow down. Options raced through her mind in milliseconds, at once begging her to weigh her options carefully while still moving swiftly. She had never killed a man and hadn’t actually thought much about winging the various dangerous drunks outside the Alienage. But standing above a bleeding marauder clutching his leg with his chest as a wide-open target had an air of finality she’d never come up against. Were the nagging thoughts telling her there was another way? Should she feel wrong about relishing in punishing the men who forced her hand?

The bandit caught her eye from beneath her, snapping her out of her reverie, which, in truth, had only lasted a few blinks. He had the wild desperate look of a man with no other options. Clearly the other man had been the leader, and this one’s eyes begged Kalya to spare him moments before she drove both daggers into his chest, hoping one would reach its mark and end his life quickly.

When she was sure the life had drained out of him, she sat back on her heels to catch her breath when she suddenly remembered the other man. She spun around and Sandal was standing as tall as he could next to his attacker’s bruised and bloodied body crumpled on the ground. Chest heaving and knuckles raw, Sandal stared straight ahead, past Kalya and Bodahn into nothingness.


	6. A Time of Wood and Stone

“I-I’m sorry. My boy and I just can’t handle the type of excitement you seem to attract.”

Bodahn didn’t have the conviction Kalya assumed he wanted behind his words, but he persisted in packing up her belongings with some dried food anyway, staying on the far edge of the cart, away from the recently deceased bodies of the bandits that had tried to kill them.

“Attract?!” Kalya shouted, adrenaline still fresh in her veins. “They ambushed us! Do you think this happens to me quite often?”

“You were certainly quick with a blade – and for that my boy and I are certainly thankful. I mean no disrespect, but…”

“Your _boy_ took out the leader faster than I did! He didn’t even have a weapon!”

Sandal beamed, and Kalya quickly dipped her head towards him in respect and continued.

“We could be a team. I could – we could protect you!”

“I’m sorry, my la—miss. I just don’t think we even need to carry on to Highever. I was thinking of heading south, to Lothering. But either way, you’ll have to go on without us.”

Kalya stood shaking her head, speechless. She angrily tried to convince herself she’d be happy to be rid of the dwarves, but she couldn’t help but worry how they’d make it halfway across the country if Bodahn couldn’t stomach fighting off two bandits.

“There,” Bodahn handed over her bag sheepishly. “You’ll have enough food and water for the next two days. Should make it to Highever just fine. I even packed you a small jug of Denerim Red.”

She didn’t try to hide her sneer. Homeless in the Alienage often turned down that swill.

“Just continue through this passage and keep the sun to your right until nightfall. You can make camp when you get to a clearing at the end of this pass.”

“Oh, really?” Kalya shook her tiny pack at him. “With my _tent_? And _bedroll_?!”

“We only have the one canvas and the bedrolls are…inventory. Look, we wish you all the best. I’m sure you’ll be just fine out there without us.”

Too angry to argue any more, Kalya spun on her heel and stormed into the mouth of the passage, where the bandits had first emerged. She hoped the dwarves would notice she didn’t even turn back to say goodbye, but the clink of the dead men’s armor told her they had already moved on to other things.

:::

Dusk had fallen by the time Kalya emerged from the mountain pass, but rather than lush, flat greenery of Highever’s outskirts, a thick forest opened up before her. She rolled her eyes to no one, doubting the dwarves had ever actually gotten this far north before.

Although the moon cast a cool glow that filtered through the trees and reached the forest floor in some areas, the distant howling from within didn’t make her eager to make camp anytime soon, especially on the damp forest floor.

At some point during the night, the dim light retreated with the moon, leaving the forest almost pitch black. With more ease than it took to clamber up the high-rise buildings in Denerim to search for food in the winter months, Kalya shimmied up a tree with a cluster of sturdy branches just a few dozen feet off the ground. She found a crook that looked to be a safer if not terribly comfortable alternative to being a midnight wolf buffet, but she needed to rest while she could. Winding her human-sized belt around the branch, she fastened it tight around her midsection, hoping to keep herself put through the night.

Sleep didn’t come easily. Visions of the man’s pleading face swam through her head, and her heart began pounding so hard she felt it might rock her body clear off the perch. There could have been some other way. Perhaps her charge could have been let go, free to take on a new life with his leader dead. The thought made her dizzy and her stomach lurched. She suddenly wished very much she had stayed in one of the mountain’s caves as the dim scenery seemed to pitch around her. Concentrating on controlling her breathing, Kalya ran a shaking hand through her short hair, surprised to find beads of sweat on her forehead in the cool air.

She rubbed her eyes hard and tried to think of Alistair’s kind face, pleading with her to get out of Denerim, to stay safe, but her stabbing doubts were unyielding. How did Grey Wardens make the right judgments in the blink of an eye? Did they always?

For the first time since she’d left, Kalya second-guessed her decision to escape the Alienage, her mind echoing the warning sentiments of her father and the cousins she’d left behind. The pang of ache that blossomed in her heart was a fitting punishment, she decided, for trying as hard as she could not to think of them in days past.

They had begged her to stay, insisting she was overstating the emptiness and dismay she felt about Alienage life, that everyone felt that way when they were her age, and if she stuck it out, she would eventually find her place. But the seed of doubt had been planted as a child that there was so much more to Thedas than elves in the Alienage allowed themselves to experience. When her mother’s childhood stories of adventure and intrigue were suddenly cut down with her murder, Kalya silently vowed to live the life her mother always dreamed of.

The past few years had been the most difficult as she worked and worked to get enough money to move away from the capitol, never breaking even and keeping her heart’s secret from family and holding the rare friend at a distance. When her father found her looking for a second job, he thought it would set her coin worries at ease to bring up the “approaching marrying age” chat, but her resolve was only strengthened, eyes glazing over as he talked and mentally packing up her room.

But if she had thought she was empty then, sitting in a tree without even a well-intentioned father to assure her she had only acted in self-defense, rebuke her for second-guessing herself, or hold her while she ached, she hadn’t truly known what emptiness was.

Kalya shuddered against the cold bark, willing Alistair’s brave face back into mind, if for no other reason than to calm her and make her forget the day, even for a moment. She pictured him standing tall in his armor, readying selflessly for battle. A Grey Warden did what had to be done when lives were threatened. With one last sigh, she nestled into the crook of the tree branch and stared thoughtlessly at the two or three stars threatening to pierce through the black sky.

:::

It was the shrieks she heard first – a woman’s pained screams mixed like tendrils of smoke with young voices crying out in terror. Walking all morning had taken Kalya from the thick forest completely, and she quickly discovered the lush greenery of Highever’s outlying plains _had_ been worthy of all the bards’ songs. But the bloodcurdling cries pierced her reverie in the peaceful surroundings, and she ducked to the ground as she advanced, eager to help the pained voices but less so to meet their cause.

An otherworldly growl resonated through her as she approached the scene around the low-lying foothills, and Kalya was almost bowled over by two tiny elves fleeing in her direction. She knelt to intercept the youngest into her arms, its eyes wide and face streaked with tears.

No more than 5 years old, he hadn’t looked up before barreling into her, while his brother, just a head taller, squared himself behind this sudden development with a poorly construed brave face.

“Can you climb a tree, little one?” she whispered urgently.

The smaller elf took a step back and nodded, still breathing heavily. Kalya gestured to the cluster of trees behind her.

“Climb as high as you can safely, and I’ll tell you when it’s all right to come down.” She turned to the older brother. “You’ll stay by his side and make sure he doesn’t fall?”

The brother gulped hard and gave a single nod, lip quivering as he ran past her.

Mindful to not meet head-on whatever they were running away from, Kalya scrambled up a nearby hill to survey the scene ahead of her. An elven woman dressed practically in rags was backing away from a knight or a guard advancing on her with a short dagger. A mabari stood between the two of them, hackles raised and ears flat, growling at the man. The scene didn’t make sense until she saw a sword on the ground some paces away, and blood seeping from a dent in the armor on the knight’s right arm. Could a mabari bite through steel?

“Please, ser,” the woman said through sobs. “I wasn’t hurting no one. Just let me take care of my sons, and I’ll come back!”

The mabari snapped as the man advanced on her, and Kalya saw that the massive hound was tethered to a tree. The elf wisely kept the mabari between them, but she wasn’t out of range of a thrown dagger.

“Stealing from the teryn is a crime punishable by death!”

“I didn’t steal nothing!”

“Your two brats will need to be replaced, and don’t try to tell me this mongrel is wild. If you don’t return with me now, I have orders to dispose of the property before anyone else gets any ideas.”

The woman considered his words for a moment and then dove for the sword, which was further out than the mabari’s tether could reach. Kalya’s heart sank as she scooped up the weapon. By her stance, there was no way the woman had wielded a sword before. It dipped to the ground almost immediately, and the man stepped on the blade, lunging forward to drive his dagger into the elf’s gut.

The mabari’s wild barking was enough to mask the sound of pebbles’ plinking underfoot as Kalya skidded down the hill behind the man. An aching tightness clenched in her chest, making it hard to breathe, but she barely noticed. Bounding off a large rock, she launched into the back crook of the guard’s knee, crumpling him to the ground. Before he could turn his head, Kayla grabbed his hair, yanked his head back, and ran her blade deep across his throat.

As his torso fell to the ground, she rolled off to the side, bracing herself shakily on one arm, gasping for air. Kalya didn’t know how long she remained there on the ground, but at some point she curled her legs up underneath her, shivering and sobbing.

Eventually, the mabari’s barking subsided, jarring her back to the present. She propped herself up on one arm. Two corpses lay before her, and the smell of fresh blood was about to make her retch. Locking eyes with the dog and dipping her head in submission, she crawled over and untied the frayed rope that looped around its collar, praying to the Maker he wasn’t the soldier’s dog.

Slowly, and in a low crawl, the hound made its way over to the dead elf, nosing her gently, sniffing for signs of life, until it was sure it found none. Then, as if knowing what an imposing form it had, it approached Kalya cautiously, eyes to the ground, and nuzzled her sadly with its head. She draped an arm around the mutt and continued crying, feeling foolish and exhausted and helpless all at once.


	7. Traveler

For the past week, Alistair had preferred to sleep outside. It was warmer by the dwindling fire anyway, and staring at the stars was infinitely more interesting than the drab ceiling of his tent. The sleepless nights he was getting used to, but tonight brought on a fun new bonus: a dull ache in the pit of his stomach!

Kalya’s face danced through his memories. A flash of the curvature of her hips. The sensation of her fingertips feathering across his chest. It was those recollections that kept him inside the canvas for the first week of sleepless nights. As guilty and wrong as it felt, even the most battle-hardened warrior needed a polished sword if he was to remain composed in the fray. And it wasn’t exactly easy _or_ painless to shift himself around underneath 50 pounds of armor when those memories flitted in during daylight.

It wasn’t just visions of fevered passion that distracted him. When Duncan caught Alistair listlessly staring off into the rapids of the Drakon River after an unremarkable battle with some bandits who had foolishly tried to jump them, he placed an understanding hand on the new recruit’s shoulder. Alistair jumped at the touch, roused from a daydream of a simpler life: cozy home, warm fire, smiling wife.

Without saying a word, Duncan recommitted Alistair back to their cause with little more than a knowing and sad smile. They were Grey Wardens. It was their job to keep Ferelden safe, and if a Blight really was stirring as the rumors suggested, life was only going to be more difficult for them as the days passed. Alistair needed to stay focused if he was going to survive and keep his promise to Kalya – to meet again someday, after his duty was done.

Since that day, Alistair worked to keep Kalya in a place of inspiration in his mind rather than longing. She was so much more than simply a lover from a fleeting, passionate moment in his past. Saving Ferelden from the Blight was every Grey Warden’s goal, and Alistair stood more stalwart than ever to protect the land that contained an elf who didn’t know how perfect she was. He intended to tell her that someday.

This renewed perspective had begun to serve him well and even offered him a night or two of restful sleep as he and Duncan made their way south, split from other Wardens before circling back to report their findings in less than six months’ time. But when the rare darkspawn they came across became the _occasional_ darkspawn, the weight of fear that this was a true Blight drove Alistair out of his tent nightly to count stars until sleep found him.

His skill with a sword was just about the only ability Alistair took confidence in, but he was only one man. Grey Warden numbers had been thinning for years, and even _if_ the stubborn cocksure king officially declared this to be a Blight, it could be months before other nations could make it to Ferelden for backup.

The Wardens’ route on this dangerous path wasn’t on accident either. Duncan had been keeping an eye out for bandits with enough skill to at least place on the front lines of their cause, but those they had come across were such terrible fighters, it wasn’t even worth seeing if they’d survive a Joining. Death by the Wardens’ hands was more merciful than succumbing to the taint – whether by imminent darkspawn attack or Joining Ritual gone horribly wrong.

Alistair’s stomach lurched and gurgled uncomfortably. That was it. The elves.

That morning, Duncan had used the Right of Conscription on a jailer caravan on its way to South Reach. In it were two escaped elves being hauled back to their owners, but when Duncan stopped the caravan to inquire about what manner of enemies they might have passed, Alistair watched one of the elves – a woman – snake her arm through the bars and expertly pick the lock, freeing her and her male companion. The male was one of the only elves Alistair had ever seen that he’d describe as positively robust, and when he and Duncan gave chase and eventually apprehended them, their spirit and athleticism were sure to make them worthy potential Wardens. Duncan invoked the Right to the angry jailors, who reluctantly set them free under the Wardens’ care.

Within hours, Duncan had concocted the mystical liquid for the Joining Ritual, using blood from the darkspawn they’d come across the day prior, and he served the chalice to the two elves eager for a new life. Alistair hadn’t witnessed a Joining since his own, and his heart tightened in his chest as he watched them sip from the ornate goblet.

The taint hit the female first. Her eyes rolled back in her head, as did the male’s beside her, but they stayed standing, which was a good sign. Then they began gurgling and choking and dropped like sacks to the ground, one slumped over the other. Alistair locked eyes with Duncan, who blinked solemnly and shook his head.

It was Kalya, in Alistair’s mind, at least. Her deftness at catching the dropped glass, self-deprecating jokes about her skill with a blade, her taut rogue’s body. He’d felt her strength when they were together, and even after they left Denerim, he had hoped, in the Wardens’ desperation, she might be a good Grey Warden candidate. He never brought it up to Duncan, for one because he worried _all_ green recruits tried to convince the Warden-Commander that their lover was strong enough to join and he’d just look foolish, but also because he didn’t want to chance the coin flip that she wouldn’t survive her Joining, as these elves did not.

Alistair placed his hand on his stomach and pushed down, as if he could work away the nervous pain within. He measured his breaths and slowed them, repeating gratefully in his head: _It wasn’t her. She’s safe. It wasn’t her._

:::

The salt air on the wind hit them before anyone could spot the ocean. Kalya wasn’t sure what to do with the tiny elves, or the mabari for that matter, once she reached Highever, but she was certainly happy for the latter’s company over the past two days. The highways were truly no place for travelers on foot, but luckily the dog’s imposing presence kept the four of them as safe as they could be on the last legs of their journey.

But she wasn’t sure what would happen once she reached their destination. She supposed she would try to find work, perhaps seeking some kind soul in the Chantry to look after the children.

Her chest still seized up whenever the woman’s face drifted into her mind, and if it hadn’t been for the gentle nudging of the mabari’s face into the palm of her hand as she had coaxed the young ones out of the tree, she might have left them to fend for themselves, rather than admit to them what she had let happen. If only she had slid down the hill a moment sooner. If only she hadn’t been too scared to run directly through the valley, since the soldier would never have noticed her over the commotion anyway. The boys hadn’t said much on the journey. Although she could only assume their life had been pretty rough to force their mother to run away with so much at risk, she silently cursed the Maker for exposing ones so young to such pain.

If Kalya didn’t have enough on her mind, there was certainly plenty of quiet time to stress about the fast-approaching possibility of being homeless and copperless. When she agreed to travel with the dwarves, she assumed she’d hop off the cart in Highever’s Market District and begin looking for work and a room somewhere immediately. Vowing never to work as a servant again, she’d use what little remained of her coin on clothing with the meek hope of getting another waitressing job.

While it would have been relatively easy to enter city lines as a merchant, now there would be significantly more questions about her business strolling into Highever with two elves and a possibly stolen mabari.

Even if the Chantry took the orphans in no-questions-asked, Kalya would need a career under the radar for a while, and making real coin fast meant making friends with shady types. The usual smugglers or mercenaries were sure to be found in just about any city in Ferelden.

_How_ does _one get into the mercenary business?_ she wondered listlessly. _Do they take on apprentices, or do you just start killing people for free and hope they like your work?_

Her own dark humor made her stomach churn. Two lives taken, when a few days ago she’d never harmed a living thing. Well, _much_. She let out a deep sigh, and the mabari startled her by nuzzling against her arm.

Highever slowly rose before them on the coast, still few hours’ walk in the distance. Carts of travelers entered and left the city from all sides as the plains flattened out before them. The path they had been taking was blessedly empty, but a low rumbling behind them drove Kalya to herd the group quickly into a nearby patch of bushes. They’d gotten used to the routine, and the elves flattened themselves out of sight against the dipping embankment. She peered out between the leaves as it passed.

A shield sat beside sacks of goods and the symbol emblazoned across it looked strikingly familiar. A lion or a dragon… _A griffon!_ She craned her neck dangerously out of hiding in an attempt to glimpse the driver as the mabari whined softly.

The horse carried on at a steady pace, and soon the driver was far out of sight. _It couldn’t have been Alistair,_ Kalya convinced herself, heart pounding. _All the way up north and alone as a new recruit? There was just no way._

Clumps of trees dotted the path into town, and the elves got into a rhythm of sprinting between the stands, pausing out of sight within them to cool down and catch their breath. The boys ran hand in hand and the mabari circled the group protectively.  _Maybe he knows where Alistair is, though. And if he’s safe. I mean, how many Grey Wardens could there be in Highever?_

The younger elf caught Kalya smiling and smiled meekly back at her, sending a pang of guilt through her that soured her expression. As easy as it had been to keep friends at arm’s length to avoid weepy goodbyes in Denerim, plotting the abandon of elves orphaned by her own dawdling was a different matter entirely. 

Kalya retrieved a cloak from her pack and tied it gruffly around the younger elf, eager to get to the Chantry before nightfall.

:::

The affluence of the city was easy to see even in the darkening skies. From the slick cobblestones to the perfect stonework making up the architecture, everything gleamed a creamy white as if it had been scrubbed daily. It was nothing like the dusty dirt roads from back home. The beauty was almost enough to salve the worry      of her daunting tasks ahead.

Dusk was where Kalya had always flourished. Too early for ne'er-do-wells to have left their nightly tavern rounds but just late enough to creep silently through the shadows on empty streets. Her companions hugged the walls, waiting patiently as she scaled a slippery parapet to get a better view.

The ostentatious Chantry wasn’t difficult to find, but when they reached its doors, Kalya had been a bit surprised to find them locked. Well, for the moment.

“Open for all to worship,” she muttered, “provided you don’t work all day and you go to sleep at sunset.”

Still, the ease with which she picked the lock was almost criminal – okay, it was _definitely_ criminal – and Kalya felt compelled to recite a quick “Andraste, forgive me” as the door creaked closed behind them so the elves didn’t grow up to be uncaring felons or anything. Caring felons, however, would be perfectly acceptable.

Red candles lined the hallway around them, casting dancing shadows on the creamy stone of the Chantry’s walls. Rows of pews lined up before them ending at a resplendent dais, and Kalya rolled her eyes that a city so wealthy still seemed to have a lot they needed to pray about.

She didn’t know what she had expected to find. Maybe a sign somewhere that said “Drop off orphans here” with an arrow pointing down to a nice cushion or two. The mabari kept watch by the heavy front doors, and Kalya led the group down the aisle as a chill settled into her bones in the cool air. Reaching a pew near the center, she motioned for the elves to slide in, and she followed, sitting for what felt like the first time in ages.

“Why don’t you guys stretch out and try to get some rest?” Kalya said. “Might not be as comfortable as grass, but you’re much safer here.”

“Are we going to work here?” the older elf asked.

Kalya gulped hard.

“I don’t – I…” She sighed. “I’m going to see if I can find the Revered Mother.”

The moment she rose, a door down a back hallway offshooting from the dais creaked open and dim light spilled out. Cautious footfalls accompanied the flickering light on a slow approach. The boys looked to Kalya for instructions to act, but she held out a hand and inhaled deeply.

“Here we are then,” she whispered.

Hands held up to show she meant no harm, Kalya slowly approached the hallway. The candelabra appeared first before the frightened sister rounded the corner, and her shriek made Kalya jump as the sconce dropped from the sister’s hand. Kalya instinctively shot out to grab it before it clattered to the ground, but when she looked up from her hunched-over catching position, the sister had procured a small dagger and was pointed it shakily at her. _No more sudden movements. Got it._

“Please, sister. We seek sanctuary here.”

“How did you get in?” she demanded, sounding more courageous than she looked.

“…Well, we tried seeking sanctuary outside but muggers kept stealing our tithes.”

The sister’s stern expression remained frozen. Kalya exhaled and slowly extended the candelabra for the sister to take back from her.

“Please. I… some children have lost their mother. I didn’t know where else to go.”

She gestured to the pew, and a head slowly popped up to peer at them.  The sister grabbed the sconce from Kalya’s outstretched hand and rushed to their side.

“Tiny elves! Oh, you poor dears.” She knelt beside them, caressing their faces as they stared back at her, wide-eyed. “Whatever happened? No, please don’t tell me. Don’t relive it another moment.”

“I’m not… sure how this works. I don’t have the means to care for them, but I thought maybe they’d be safe here?” Kalya scratched her neck uncomfortably.

“Do you know where they’re from? Have they any other family?”

“Out of town,” she said, staring deep into the eyes of the older boy. “Must be Dalish.” He stared back at her, pleading silently to tell the truth that they might be spared, and her heart broke. There was no way their human former master would recognize them, but when you live in fear and servitude, there’s not a lot of room for hope. Kalya gulped again before the final blow.

“I think the Maker led them to me so I could bring them here. They’re tall for their age. Should be quite strong. They could help you out around the Chantry in exchange for shelter.”

“I don’t know…” The sister wrung her hands. “Normally we send children to be fostered by the parish, but they’re all humans…”

“Please, my lady!” the smaller elf said. “My mom taught me how to scrub floors, and we can wash your pretty robes.”

The sister put her hand over her heart.

“I’ll have to run it past the Revered Mother, but… well, I don’t see why you couldn’t stay.”

Kalya exhaled in relief. She counted out a few beats before awkwardly heading for the door, but the holy woman interrupted with a frightened squeak. She had just discovered the looming mabari by the door.

“Just these two little ones, is it?” the sister asked.

“Yes, we’re, uh, we’re leaving.”

But there was something else. Kalya sheepishly made her way back over to them, praying to the Maker to avoid a grand goodbye scene.

When she was in arm’s length of the sister, she slowly handed over the dagger – handle-side first of course, with no sudden movements. The sister’s jaw dropped, and she quickly patted her robes down, hesitating for a moment before suspiciously taking it from her.

“It’s, um, dangerous to brandish these if you don’t know what you’re doing,” Kalya said, suddenly finding the rest of the Chantry very interesting. “You’re better off with the fire there.” She nodded towards the candelabra.

Three faces gaped at her in silence. If mabaris could gape, he was probably joining them. Possibly rolling his eyes, as well.

“Well, I’ll be… Yeah.”

Kalya hurried to the giant front doors of the Chantry trying to think of some last words to leave with the elves. Anything. The mabari snorted as she joined his side. Nothing came to mind. They were better off here than they were with her. She’d just bring danger into their lives, like Bodahn had said. She wasn’t just conveniently sloughing them off at her first opportunity. It was better this way.

She was through the door before anyone could see her eyes mist.


	8. Bloodied

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Trigger Warning: attempted rape._

The gigantic Chantry doors clicked shut behind Kalya, and she rested against them to compose herself. When she had located the Chantry from her perch high above the city, she’d made a beeline right through town, keeping her eyes low to the ground for danger in the immediate surroundings, but now with streets quiet, the massive architecture loomed around her, making her feel very small and very alone.

Not far to her right rose a tall, impressive castle she hadn’t noticed before that caused her heart to race. A structure that close to the Chantry could only be the wealthy home of Highever’s teyrn, sworn ruler of the soldier she had murdered in the forest. Although it was unlikely his body had even been found by now, Kalya was eager to head straightaway in the opposite direction, toward the increasingly shabbier part of town. She didn’t fancy ending up at another Alienage, but the surrounding area was sure to be shady enough to take rent money from an elf, no questions asked.

As Kalya started on her way, the mabari huffed at her in the darkness. She spun around to find him no longer at her side. He swayed his heavy head in the direction of the castle.

“So this is it then?” she asked. “Just making sure I didn’t sell them into slavery, and off you go?”

He cocked his head to one side.

“Didn’t need another mouth to feed anyway.”

The mabari squared off and growled quietly.

“All right! All right! I was just – It was nice meeting you, sir.” She bowed, and he huffed at her again, turning around.

“Hey! Thanks for your help. Keep fighting the good fight, yeah?”

He snorted and continued on his way towards the castle.

:::

The stillness of the night air was perfectly suited for allowing niggling doubts to creep past the barriers one tried so hard to keep fortified.

For three days, Kalya had crept around the town during the day, hood raised to hide her ears, searching furtively for abandoned shelter and discarded food. Denerim had enough closely stacked apartments that fell into such disrepair, the human inhabitants simply up and left, open for all self-loathing elf squatters who preferred cast-off human dwellings to compulsory Alienage squalor.

In Highever, there seemed to be only the latter. Kalya had spent each night in a different dark alley, buried beneath overflowing sacks of grain that were terribly itchy but blessedly inconspicuous. She was a light sleeper, but every time she jerked awake at a sudden noise, the drunk or cutpurse was simply passing through.

Street crime was an order of magnitude less than in her hometown, but it certainly existed, rising steadily after sundown. But the largely wealthy people of Highever carried with them a false sense of security that served Kalya well, allowing her to walk amongst them somewhat surreptitiously during the day.

At dusk, after most humans had cleared the streets, Kalya liked to shimmy up the higher buildings to take in the breathtaking surroundings and catch a gulp of the sea air. It was all she could do to convince herself leaving Denerim was the right choice.

Highever Castle was situated on the northern coast, overlooking the sea. The town radiated around it, with import roads leading in from the east and west. The Alienage was pocketed in the southernmost corner of the city, and rich farmlands dotted the northeastern border.

As she surveyed the town from her perch one evening, Kalya spotted a patch of light emanating from a small building just outside the Alienage. She scurried down from her vantage point and zigzagged through back alleys, slowing only when she approached the entrance, yellow light, music, and laughter spilling out into the street around her.

The smells drifting from within made her mouth water. This was clearly not an establishment that only turned its grill on every few weeks for the rare customer. Her stomach growled angrily, and it took everything for her not to throw caution to the wind and march in there as if she belonged. Truth was, even with the hood on, the pronounced bridge of her nose announced her race to all who looked closely enough, and there were surprisingly no elves within the establishment so close to their living area.

Allowing herself one last masochistic inhalation of the sweet grilling meats, Kalya was about to turn and go, when she saw a subtle commotion at a table at the far end of the bar.

The other tipsy patrons weren’t like to notice, but a woman in a booth was pushing a man away from her as he leaned sloppily in for a kiss. She was giggling at first, but when he continued advancing with undue strength, fear swept across her eyes. Jerking her arm out of his grasp and turning to escape, she stumbled backwards towards him when he grabbed hold of her roughly. Jerking them both to standing, he took hold of her shoulders roughly, making their unsteady gait look like a drunken couple stumbling home.

In an instant, Kalya melted around the corner into a side doorframe, watching intently as the two emerged from the tavern. She gulped hard as they passed her hiding spot in the dead-end alley. Kalya remained frozen in wait as the human manhandled his victim down to its shadow-darkened end. He kicked the woman’s feet out to spread her legs and kept one tight hand around the woman’s neck as the other hand began unbuckling his trousers.

The world around Kalya stopped, and there was no room for doubt as she snatched the blades from inside her boots, advancing silently on the couple. From a few feet away, she launched herself forward, aiming for the back of the man’s leg and slamming her knife handle into the crook of his arm. Rather than crumpling to the ground as the soldier had, the man simply shifted his weight. Spinning around in shock, he landed his elbow square in Kalya’s face, stunning her into dropping both knives as she slammed into the side wall. The captive woman gave a choking sound and a cough, causing her attacker to slam her head again against the hard stone.

Dazed on the ground, Kalya scrambled to regain her balance. Blood gushed from her nose, seeping through her swelling lips, as the bitter, metallic taste met her tongue. There was no time to feel around for her blades, but perhaps she could stun the man long enough to loosen his grip on the girl.

The assailant swung his one free arm wildly as she tried to duck out of its way, but he grabbed onto Kalya’s hair and yanked her to her feet, fixing his strong hand around her neck, as well.

“Looks like it’ll be two for the price of one,” he sneered.

With his arms occupied, however, he couldn’t block Kalya’s harsh kick to the groin, and he doubled over in pain, dropping both of them. The woman ran off crying, but when Kalya went to juke around his other side, he caught her again and slammed her head back on the ground beside him, hands around her neck.

“Oh, you’re gonna pay for that one, bitch!”

He mounted her and squeezed her limbs between his thighs too tightly for her to wriggle out of as her peripheral vision became hazy. She tried to inhale but his thumbs pressed tightly on the base of her neck, making it impossible. In her last seconds of consciousness, she saw his head fly back and a leather-bound hand slice a line across the man’s neck, spurting more blood onto her face. His body collapsed on top of her, and the world went black.

:::

Bubbles of pain burst against Kalya’s face in the blackness, matching the rhythmic precision of her heartbeats. She could sense a dim, flickering candlelight as consciousness slowly crept in, bringing with it more aching discoveries. A throbbing in the chest, a raw slash across her arm. Trying to move as little as possible, she willed her heavy eyelids to open, revealing a small wooden room surrounding her, candle by the bedside.

Other senses returned all at once. A clattering in the opposite corner startled her as a pungent odor filling the room hit her nose, sending her scrambling shakily to the top of the bed against the wall.

“Easy there, stranger.” A man’s deep voice rose in the darkness with a whisper of an Orlesian accent. Kalya’s eyes adjusted enough to see a dim flame of a stove where the man stood, stirring the aromatic substance. He was facing away from her.

“What do you do?” he asked calmly.

“Excuse me?” Kalya’s voice creaked, and her lips felt unnaturally thick. The voice sounded distantly familiar, but her clouded mind couldn’t connect.

“You wake up in a dark room with a strange man whose back is turned. What do you do?”

Kalya searched the room. To her left was the small candle. To her right on another small table were her twin blades, glinting in moonlight spilling in through the window.

“I stab you in the fucking back,” she said, heart suddenly racing like a trapped animal. She considered lunging for them, but had the distant impression this was a trap.

Without turning around, the man slapped a hand across his back with a dull, metallic thump.

“Leather with a layer of mail underneath. No good. Next?”

“I…what is this? If you’re going to kill me, do it _before_ the lecture.”

“I’m not going to kill you, but that rapist would have in an instant.”

The man spun around slowly with a simmering pot in one hand, raising the other with his palm towards her, supposedly, she assumed, to show he meant no harm as he approached. He sat on the end of the bed and dipped a cloth into the steaming liquid.

“Well?” he asked again.

“I would…I’d try to blow out your knee and attack you on the ground.”

Lifting the cloth out of the thick solvent, he squeezed it lightly in one hand and dipped his head in unspoken permission, leaning towards her to dab it on her cheeks. The salve felt hot and cold at once, and though her face tingled beneath its touch, she could feel some of the pain slowly wicking away.

“When you’re weaker than your enemy – which is everyone to you, elf – that will only work on the rare chance the attacker is unbalanced or distracted. That man was neither. Kicking his legs and hitting his arm only made him choke his victim tighter.”

“Well, what was I supposed to do? Let her get raped?”

He gently dabbed the salve higher, circling both her eyes. She sucked in through her teeth at the sharp sting, but the feeling was quickly replaced by soothing warmth.

“As an elf, you’re also quicker than many, and more dexterous. A yank of the hair pulling the head back will stun just about any human, opening up their neck for your blade, or if you’d rather, distracting them long enough to make them more susceptible to leg or arm attacks.”

“I’d _rather_ have stabbed him in the crotch,” she muttered. Her companion chuckled softly.

After returning the cloth to the pot to re-saturate, he gently lifted her arm and ran the material over the gash.

“Did I miss anything?” he asked.

“Um, my mouth,” she said. “Thanks, I can...” She trailed off, reaching out her able hand.

He handed the bowl over. She lifted the cloth to her face and then sheepishly tucked it underneath her shirt to smooth the rising bruise on her chest as the man averted his eyes.

When she was finished, Kalya returned the salve, and he placed it next to the candle on her bedside table. The light illuminated his rugged features and dark hair pulled into a half-ponytail. Her heart leapt when she made the connection.

“Wait, I _know_ you!”

“Do you, stranger?”

“You – You were there with Alistair. In Denerim. You’re a Grey Warden!”

“That I am. Riordan. You’re the elf from the Spotted Pig, are you not?”

A smile escaped through her throbbing lips, and she lightly shook his hand.

“Are the Grey Wardens in Highever?” she asked.

“Only me, I’m afraid.” Kalya’s shoulders dropped, and Riordan poorly hid a small, knowing smile.

“I’m actually headed back to Orlais in a half-year’s time, but I was granted leave to spend some time at my childhood home.” His voice trailed off, suspended in thought, as he stared at the ground ahead of him.

“And, um, the others?” she asked, hoping to sound nonchalant.

“Alistair and Duncan went south, while the rest of the group you met continued due west through the Bannorn.”

“What, is there a Blight or something?”

Riordan’s gaze remained on the floor. “We’ll leave _that_ for your king to decide.”

“Oh. I was…sort of kidding.”

A few moments passed, and Kalya shifted uncomfortably on the hard bed.

“How’s the pain?” Riordan asked.

“Better than before, I suppose. Thank you.”

Riordan nodded towards the foul-smelling mixture. “Best to keep that near you for a while. You’ll swell back up in a few hours, but you can apply whenever it starts to ache. Here.”

He reached in the table’s drawer and procured a smoothed silver disk, holding it up to her face. When she caught sight of herself, she jumped back in surprise.

“Maker! You could have said something!”

Riordan chuckled. “The potion can’t do anything about the coloring, but I should think you _look_ worse than you feel.”

“Yeah, thanks a lot,” she scowled at her reflection. Two black eyes stared back at her, and the sides of her nose were outlined with angry dark bruises. Her lips were double their usual size. No wonder talking felt foreign.

“Well, I should… let you get some rest. I can mix something to help you sleep, if you like.”

“No. I mean, no, thanks. I don’t think I’ll have a problem.”

Riordan rose and crossed to the room’s entrance, opening the creaky, wooden door.

“I’ll be right in the next room. If you need anything, just give a shout. Breakfast will be at sunrise.”

He bowed his head toward her and clicked the door shut behind him. Kalya inched back down the scratchy, hard bed and gingerly flipped on her side. The night’s stars looked move vivid than she could remember them being, and she exhaled a deep breath she didn’t notice she’d been holding. She could get used to being on this side of the windowpane.


	9. Shadow

Sleep came quickly but didn't stay for long. Throbbing pain woke Kalya up every few hours or so, and she sleepily dabbed the balm across her body to quiet it. The hard bed felt as if it were stuffed with hay, but she was grateful to be sleeping anywhere that didn't have a sack of grain in sight.

Sure enough, Riordan came in at first light, carrying a tray of eggs, slices of cheese, grilled ham, and a crust of bread. She sprung up to a sitting position so fast, she forgot about the dormant bruise on her chest, which quickly woke up as well. Wincing as he sat the tray on her lap, she recovered almost instantly when the meal's aroma hit her and ravenously dug into the hot meal with both hands.

"Going to need a second helping there,  _Warden_?" Riordan asked, smiling.

"Huh?" she said, mashing the bread into her mouth, as crumbs flew everywhere.

"You act like you haven't eaten since the last Blight."

She shrugged and continued munching on a triangle of yellow cheese.

"I've got some errands to attend to. There's a clean shirt in the drawer to your right. No trousers, I'm afraid. But I won't be back inside for a while if you'd like to draw a bath. I'm warming some water right now. It should be ready soon."

Kalya's mouth nearly dropped open. She'd been bathing in streams for as long as she could remember. Traveling to the outskirts of Denerim was dangerous enough that elven outings were organized monthly between themselves so men and women could travel in groups for washing day. She'd never been in a real bath full of hot, clean water, although she'd emptied plenty.

Riordan cleared his throat, probably a bit uncomfortable with her gape.

"Yes, well, as I said, take all the time you need. I should be back at midday, and you can have some more to eat. Good day, my lady."

He bowed and took his leave. Kalya let out a deep breath and gazed out the window to the green farmland beyond. She'd nearly forgotten what it felt like to be full. She couldn't wait to feel clean.

:::

The crisp caress of fresh linens made Kalya feel like nobility.

She had spent most of the early morning in the bath, soaking away the last remaining aches that the potion hadn't eradicated. All that remained now were the unsightly bruises, but if Riordan didn't care, she didn't either.

When she emerged from the long hallway that held her guest room, Riordan's room, and the bathroom, she was surprised to find what she'd thought was a little wooden farmhouse was more of a spacious wooden mansion. The end of the hall opened up into a sprawling living space, humongous kitchen, and another hallway continued off in another direction.

Equally surprising a discovery was the unfortunate squalor of it all. Riordan – or his family, she supposed – had so many tiny mountains of belongings piled up, she couldn't see the floor underneath. She would have guessed the place had been ransacked if there hadn't been so much left behind.

She felt guilty gaping at the room, as if seeing the mess at all was some invasion of privacy. Movement outside caught her attention, and she scurried to a window, ducking beneath the frame to peek outside before catching herself and remembering she didn't need to melt into the shadows today.

Beyond some rows of long-neglected vegetables was a huge oval enclosure fencing in a few horses that galloped around inside the perimeter. She could see Riordan on the far end rolling huge bales of hay into a great wooden barn. The cart that had passed when she ducked out of sight on the road to Highever with the young elves now remained close to the house, half-full of some vegetables scavenged from the wild garden.

She chewed her lip in deliberation. There was probably enough time to  _at least_  start.

:::

Riordan entered through the kitchen door with a heavy satchel in hand exactly when the sun was at its highest point in the sky and stopped dead in his tracks. The kitchen was positively gleaming in the noonday sun. Pots and pans scrubbed to perfection hung from hooks long neglected. Years of mildew had been scoured away, revealing a brilliant stone countertop underneath.

The food from breakfast had been reorganized back in the pantry according to light and moisture restrictions, and a plate of bread and various meats was already spread out for lunch.

Kalya cursed under her breath from the living room. She'd wanted the entire area to be cleaned when he returned, but she'd lost track of the time. The aimless mountains were now almost completely categorized into tinier mountains organized by book, clothing, possible heirloom, and possible trash when he had interrupted her surprise.

"Maker's breath," he said. "I half expected you to be back in bed."

Kalya chuckled. "Have a little respect for your potion. Um, ser."

Riordan was speechless, peering into organized nooks and crannies in the kitchen he'd probably never known existed. When his wonder had its fill, he spun around, taking in the new living room for the first time. He shook his head in disbelief, and Kalya scrambled uncomfortably to fill the silence.

"Heh, you know what they say. You can take the elf out of servitude…"

"I hope you didn't feel you owed me this, child. That potion and your accommodations were freely given."

"Sure, for the one night…"

Riordan cocked his head ever so slightly to the side.

"Ser, if I might be so bold – you said you were to stay in Highever for six months. Is that right?"

He nodded.

"And you're a skilled Grey Warden. A rogue if I'm not mistaken."

His eyes narrowed, and Kalya couldn't get a read on if she should go for broke or lie and say she cleaned out of the kindness of her heart, then duck away into the night. She imagined he must be magnificent at poker.

"I was just thinking… if you needed some help around the house, which, uh, it looks like you do, sorry, I could stay here. And help."

"For room and board," he said rather than asked. His blank gaze made her gulp hard.

"And, er, training. Maybe."

"Training."

"Surely you need a sparring partner to keep your skills sharp."

Riordan shifted his weight, glaring slightly, and she yearned for the happy times when his face had remained blank.

"Well, not  _you_ , I'm sure. I mean, it's probably good discipline for  _anyone_."

Seconds crawled by. She wondered distantly if she could still drown herself in the tub.

"Okay,  _me_. I want you to train me. What you said last night sounded like really good advice, but there's so much more I don't even know. I've never been trained, and I'm weaker than all the bandits and thieves of Ferelden, and it pisses me off."

"Was that so hard?" he asked, throwing her the satchel he'd been carrying.

She caught it midair and sunk a bit under its surprising weight. Inside were folded scraps of leather armor – much too small for a human. Kalya shot Riordan a suspicious glance.

"We start in the early evening, when the day begins to cool off."

Riordan picked up the platter and carried it to the freshly unearthed table and newly usable seats. He motioned for her to join him, nibbling a piece of meat.

"Thank you, ser. Truly. You won't regret this. I promise."

"Oh, but  _you_  might, child." He gestured to the other hallway she had yet to visit. "You haven't seen my parents' room yet."

:::

The barn reached further back than it appeared, its wooden walls lined with shields and weapons, various weights of armor. Horses pranced around proudly in the enclosure surrounding them as Riordan took Kalya through a few of the ways she could have disarmed the criminal without hurting his victim or herself.

The next day, after Kalya helped Riordan in the garden for most of the morning, it was more of the same: disarming techniques from behind, over and over until she finally thought she had mastered it. When Riordan was convinced, he switched it up on her, catching an arm where he knew it would be and seeing if she could work her way out of his grasp with the new variable. She couldn't.

Days passed, and they worked on other techniques in the afternoon. Grabs, arm locks, grappling. He taught her how to use an opponent's strength against him and capitalize on her speed and dexterity to win over raw power. Kalya could sense Riordan's hesitance to put real strength behind his attacks, and when she realized what he was doing, she socked him in the solar plexus so hard, he had to hunch over and grab his kneecaps for a few minutes.

From then on, their tenacity was a bit more evenly balanced, but she knew she would never be a true match for Warden strength. Still, she could feel her power and reflexes improving as the weeks passed.

When it was time for weapons training, Riordan was thrilled to discover her innate skill with dual-wielding. Minutes into their lesson, he tossed her much heavier blades to train with, so when it came time to use the real thing, the strength behind her slashes would be like cutting through air.

The only recalcitrance came when Riordan pleaded with Kalya to practice the bow and arrow, assuring her the weapon was perfectly suited for her build and body type. Kalya replied either by glaring at him until he backed away, silently continuing her knife forms without looking at him, or insisting angrily this was proof that every human was inherently racist towards elves. Riordan didn't like those days very much and often ended up inside, taking his heated emotions out on that evening's dinner.

Some days of training were better than others. When Riordan finally stopped pulling his punches, Kalya found herself more often than not tumbling to the ground from an unblocked haymaker or being thwapped hard across her midsection, which would have meant death from a real sword.

Riordan never apologized, for which she was masochistically thankful. Each blossom of pain was a reminder to better parry with her weapons or keep her guard up. Thankful as she was, however, more than one occasion ended with her foregoing supper to sulk in her room.

The worst days were those where she fought back tears  _during_  training, not due to any pain or embarrassment, but bitter anger at herself. For not being stronger, faster; for telegraphing her moves for Riordan to anticipate and for being unable to read his; for not seeming to be getting any better despite the passing months.

If Riordan noticed the mist gathering in her eyes on such occasions, he blessedly didn't mention it. But at the next day's meal or during chores, he would make a point to compliment a move she'd recently perfected or conveniently mention a strategy that might have prevented the previous day's failings. For these and countless other kindnesses, she knew she would never be able to thank him enough.

:::

Nights were a particularly difficult time. The first time it happened, Kalya sprung from her bed, knives grasped in her hands before she even realized what had woken her up. Ungodly screaming from the room next door sapped the remainder of sleep from her foggy mind, and she burst through Riordan's bedroom door fully expecting to see something horrible happening to him at the hands of a bandit.

He was still in bed, alone, sheets kicked across the room and back arched at an unnatural angle as he writhed in pain. Rushing to his side, Kalya noticed his eyes were still closed as screaming gurgles erupted from his mouth. She slid the knives under the bed and grasped his shoulders gently, pinning him to the mattress.

"Shh shh shh, you're okay. Riordan? You're with me in Highever. Everything's okay."

His eyes sprang open, and he glanced wildly around the room. In an instant, he was out of bed, pinning Kalya against the wall the rooms shared, knife brandished out of nowhere pressing against her throat. Riordan's shoulders rose and dropped rapidly as he continued searching the shadows around him. Kalya was too afraid to move or speak. Finally, Riordan stumbled backwards a few steps and took his head in his hand, rubbing his eyes.

"I…I'm sorry," he said.

"No, no." Kalya rubbed her neck where he had been holding her. "Though if you ever meet my father, you can tell him I've been dethroned as grumpiest upon awakening."

Riordan searched her face. He looked so sad, she regretted making the stupid joke.

"Is there anything I can…" She trailed off.

He sat down hard on the bed behind him. Kalya could see both blades still on the floor, in addition to the one still in his hand. She reached down sheepishly to retrieve her weapons. After a moment, he slid his back under his pillow and looked at her.

"Sleep with yours too, do you? Smart." He said finally.

"Yeah. Uh,  _next_  to the bed. I sleep with my hands shoved under the pillow, so that would get…messy."

The silence hung in the air. She couldn't remember ever feeling this uncomfortable around Riordan. Not afraid of him, but… ashamed. Like she had walked in on something private she wasn't meant to see.

"I should get –"

"It's the Taint," Riordan interrupted.

"Excuse me?"

"Comes with the Grey Warden territory, I'm afraid. You think you get used to the nightmares, but I guess we never shake that off."

Kalya looked eagerly toward the door, biting her lip.

"Do you want me to…?"

"Yes, child, you should go back to sleep. I've got something here to calm the nerves. It shouldn't happen again tonight."

Kalya nodded and headed for the door. She felt like she should say something, stay with him, perhaps, but he seemed embarrassed to have disturbed her, and she was more than eager to remove herself from the situation.

Although his words had been true and it didn't happen again that night, it did happen again a few weeks later. Then a few days after that. And then it was becoming something that happened every night. Once, she asked him if it was ever going to let up, since it hadn't happened as often back when they first met, and he just shook his head solemnly. She dropped it after that.

From then on, the lightest whimper roused her from her sleep, and she dutifully joined her companion's side, now knowing better than to grab him. She would sit cautiously on the edge of the bed and rub his arm until he sat stock straight up in bed, gasping for breath. He never lost the initial sheepish expression when he realized it had been a nightmare, but he was quicker to lay back down as the frequency increased, and Kalya would run a knowing hand through his hair until he fell back asleep.


	10. Last of Your Line

Riordan had put off entering his parents’ bedroom since before Kalya had lived with him. She was permitted to clean the other guest rooms in the wing, and when they had a big enough pile of unneeded trinkets from all the rooms, Riordan was able to sell them in the Highever Market with that day’s garden yield for a fair amount of coin.

When the nightmares began, however, it seemed he had nothing left to hide from Kalya, or from in general, and they ventured in together, solemnly sorting out items that had once been clearly beloved. Kalya had a hunch where the reluctance must have originated, and he confirmed it one afternoon as they went through a pile of correspondence letters.

He told her how his parents had suddenly fallen ill while he was in Orlais and how he had returned to Ferelden to care for them, only the journey east through the Waking Sea had been fraught with pirate attacks. Although he traveled with Orlesian Chevaliers, who quickly took care of the pirate situation by his side, the setbacks proved too time-consuming to make it home on time. They had passed within days of his landing at Highever’s port.

Upon hearing the news, Riordan’s friend Duncan had contacted him seeking to distract him with Ferelden Grey Warden business, which was what had led him to attend Alistair’s Joining in Denerim months earlier. Kalya listened with somber attentiveness, but she doubted her straightening up at the mention of Alistair’s name went unnoticed.

Divulging the story to Kalya seemed to lift a weight off of Riordan’s shoulders, but it also served as a grim reminder to her, as they sold off his family’s belongings piece by piece, that there was truly nothing left in Highever for him, and he would soon be leaving Ferelden behind forever.

:::

Kalya supposed she shouldn’t have been surprised when Riordan recommended she try out her newfound skills on the nighttime streets of Highever. She had always fancied Grey Wardens as a noble order above knights and therefore duty-bound not to mettle in the affairs of drunks in barfights and lone rapists in dark alleys.

Riordan assured her that while they officially held no political ties, Wardens were encouraged to exact justice when wrongdoings were occurring right in front of them, and he offered to help her while she practiced her skills to do just that throughout town. That is, as long as the ruling Cousland family’s castle guards were never around when she did it.

One night over dwarven ale in the tavern where they’d met, Kalya finally admitted to Riordan in hushed voices her role in the murder of a Highever guard. Riordan chuckled softly, took a long drag of ale, and told her it was a good thing the honor guards hadn’t caught up with her just yet.

“Are you kidding me?” she said, ale infusing her with even more cockiness than normal. “It was practically in the middle of the mountains. I’m not even sure that’s Highever territory.”

 “He’s still a knight of Highever. The teyrn would have its murderer hanged.”

“ _He_ was the murderer! He killed an unarmed woman! An elf half his size!”

“I’m on your side, child,” said Riordan, lowering his voice and leaning in to her, “but the Couslands have a very black-and-white view of the law. The soldier was following orders and would have been hanged himself if he had let their property go.”

“Their _property_?!” She slammed a fist on the table. The barkeep eyed them, and Riordan genially waved him away. “ _I’m_ sorry, are we in _Tevinter_?! Have you been holding out teaching me to shoot lighting bolts all this time?!”

“A poor choice of words, Kalya, but the price of death is the same for elves in the castle or human soldiers defecting from their post. Imagine the knowledge they would be privy to that they could sell to enemies of the Couslands, of which there are many.”

“Yeah, well, they just got another one.”

Riordan tried grinning at his angry apprentice, but she refused to meet his gaze, and the two drank in silence for the better part of the evening. They had intended to spend the evening working on Kalya’s pickpocketing, but every time a tipsy mark who didn’t look like he’d miss a coin or two stumbled past, Kalya stuck out a lip and pretended not to notice Riordan’s urging.

When a bar fight broke out in the early morning hours and the larger of the assailants gruffly grabbed a woman and headed out the door, Riordan finally locked eyes with Kalya and offered a nod and a bemused smile, looking like he did not envy the recipient of her pent-up anger.

:::

The days were growing shorter, and Kalya couldn’t ignore the small stacks of belongings that began accumulating slowly in the living room. Riordan was packing to return to Orlais. He had sold off all the trinkets and heirlooms he couldn’t take with him on his return travel north.

Neither of them mentioned the impending day she would be dismissed, and it would hurt her pride too much to ask him if she could continue living in the great big house that would surely bring in quite a bit of coin when he sold it, so she never did.

With the melancholy countdown hanging in the air, it was all the more curious when Riordan bounded in the door one afternoon after spending time in the market. Kalya looked up from the dishes, eyebrow raised, wondering distantly if he’d been day drinking.

“Duncan’s coming here!” Riordan said, his tired eyes alight with excitement. “He will be in Highever within the next few days, and he’s recruiting.”

Kalya nearly dropped the plate she was drying. “Alistair’s coming here?”

Riordan’s smile softened. “No, child, but Duncan is recruiting for the Grey Wardens.”

“I…I don’t understand.”

“A knight called Ser Gilmore has been making a name for himself in the Cousland royal guard. He’s a spectacular candidate for the Grey Wardens, though I wouldn’t be surprised if he tried to recruit the teyrn’s daughter Elissa while he’s here.”

“How lovely. Do you suppose the Cousland girl will only murder darkspawn that help serving elves escape, or will she send them off to trial, since Couslands adhere so strictly to the law?”

“You’re not hearing me. Grey Wardens need all the help they can get. Ser Gilmore and Elissa are both skilled warriors, but… you’re a rogue, personally trained by the most skilled Senior Warden in Thedas.”

Kalya’s jaw slackened. “You’d… ask Duncan to recruit me?”

Riordan paused a moment, averting his eyes, then handed her a sealed parchment. “I’ve written a letter of recommendation. I’m afraid I won’t get to advocate for you in person, but I’m assured he will hear me out.”

“You’re leaving?!” she choked. “I -- I _knew_ you were moving, but… I don’t understand.”

“Troops from Amaranthine were to arrive the same day as Duncan, but poor weather has blocked their advancement for at least a week, and it’s said to be heading this way. Arl Howe arrived just last night with word, and travelers are being urged to make their sea travel before the storm comes through. That includes me, I’m afraid.”

“So that’s it? You’re just leaving.”

Riordan nodded. “Tonight.”

Kalya ripped off her apron and stormed towards her room.

“Child, you knew this day was coming,” he called after her.

She slid her twin blades into her boots and shoved the letter to Duncan in her satchel of leather armor. Turning gruffly on her heel, she bumped into Riordan unapologetically when he tried to block her doorway.

He caught her arm as she tried to continue down the hallway.

“I’ve made a deal with the new owner to let you stay here for a few more days. You don’t have to do this.”

“Do what? I’m just giving you the same few minutes of notice before _I_ leave forever.”

“Kalya.” Riordan dropped his grip on her arm. “I want you to be a Grey Warden. It’s what I envisioned for you from the moment I saw you attack that man in the alley. You have a good sense about you. I couldn’t be more proud of how far you’ve come.”

Kalya cursed under her breath as she turned her head away, blinking back tears.

“Tell me you’ll go to the gates of Castle Cousland in two days time. The guards won’t let you pass, but Duncan is sure to be done with his business around dusk. You can give him the letter after he’s recruited Ser Gilmore and whoever else. You could be a Warden before the week is out.”

She nodded.

“Is that a promise? You’ll meet with Duncan?”

Kalya whipped her head around to glare at him, but Riordan’s expression was so raw and hopeful, it caused her chest to tighten. She ran across the room and slapped her arms around his waist, hugging him close. He pressed her head against his chest, and they waited, neither wanting to be the first to break away.

:::

Salty wind from the Waking Sea whipped through Kalya’s hair. She sat high atop a building with a great arching shingled roof that would allow her to flatten into hiding if any guards had the sense to be looking for her. Across the way was the Chantry, and below her were Castle Cousland’s front gates, manned by two sturdy but largely inept guards.

It was early still. Unwilling to wait until dusk as she was told, she had watched Duncan arrive in the late afternoon, alone on his horse. She chided herself for the stupidity of expecting some grand procession of Grey Wardens as she watched him dismount the horse before the overzealous guards clearly excited to flex their positions of power.

Duncan bowed solemnly and extended a hand with his traveling papers, which the guard took with much relish.

She could just make out snippets of their conversation when the wind snaked through the gates and flowed up to her perch.

“So you’ve come from Denerim,” the guard said, haughtily.

“I’ve come from Lothering,” said Duncan.

The guard scanned the page. “Ah, yes. You’re _headed_ to Denerim. And then…the Brecilian Forest?”

“These are mutable intentions. Should I find what I need here, my destination may change. Ser.” Kalya rolled her eyes, wondering, as she often did, how people found the restraint to keep from punching everyone in sight.

“Very good, and your estimated departure time?”

“Ser, with all respect, Teyrn Bryce is expecting me within the week. Shall I tell him I was held up at the gates for questioning?”

The guard’s jaw dropped. “Um, no, ser. Everything looks to be in order. Ser Stefan, open the gates!”

Every inch of her body itched to drop from her perch and present the letter to Duncan, to get the formalities out of the way and start a new chapter of her life as a Grey Warden, fighting alongside the Warden Commander and, okay, yes, Alistair. He’d laugh with his crooked smile when he saw how much she’d learned, how much stronger she’d become, and he would comment that he’d known from the moment she caught that fallen glass that she was worthy of joining the order.

But she heeded Riordan’s advice, begrudgingly, to wait for Duncan’s exit, with Ser Gilmore and whoever else in tow. It wasn’t too difficult a conclusion to accept, either, since she didn’t fancy being surrounded on all sides by dirty Couslands.

Hours later, the gates rose again, but rather than Duncan emerging on his lone horse, rows and rows of Highever soldiers on their own brilliant-white steeds marched through the castle’s opening. _They_ looked like they knew what they were doing. She sunk into the dip between the eaves so they wouldn’t notice her.

After the sun set, Kalya was getting positively antsy. Fidgeting in her uncomfortable crouch, something faint caught Kalya’s ear. It was so quiet, she thought she’d imagined it at first, but when the ocean breeze died down for a moment, she heard it again, coming from far away. She scrambled up to the building’s highest point, now veiled in darkness.

To the west, past the farmlands and emerging from the thick forests between Highever and Amaranthine, she saw them. At first, she assumed they were Cousland troops returning from whence they had gone, but something seemed… off. They carried no torches, and she could see enough of their movement in the darkening dusk that their horsed ranks didn’t fall into disciplined steps as the ones who had just left.

She glanced down at the soldiers manning the gates. They were talking amongst themselves, in good spirits if not bored. Through the crisscrossed bars, she could see a fraction of the company of soldiers that had been there in late morning.

When she glanced back at the approaching troops, her stomach dropped like a stone. They were gaining ground _fast._ They could be at the gates within minutes.

Kalya felt equal parts terrified and foolish. They could just be Arl Howe’s troops, having made it through the weather ahead of schedule. They could be anyone’s troops advancing for any reason. Maybe they brought urgent news or hoped to catch up with the Cousland cavalcade headed in the other direction and would bypass Highever completely. Perhaps Duncan was awaiting their arrival before he set off. Her gut disagreed with these safer scenarios, but what choice of action did she have? Even though she didn’t need to, hidden high in the shadows, she inched her way back into hiding, as the rumbling of hooves grew ever closer.

The flaming arrows hit the Chantry first. An instant later, arrows alighted the eaves of the building where she was hiding, meters away from her on each side.


	11. Pride Before The Fall

Grappling hooks sailed into the sky as Kalya sat frozen in fear. They latched onto the top of the gates protecting Castle Cousland, and within minutes, raiders were at her eye level, ascending. Praying to the Maker that they wouldn't turn around, she could feel beads of sweat rolling down her face as she flattened behind the flames.

A burst of orange erupted from below as the fire spread from the building to the ground, blocking any hope of exit. Over the crackling flames, she could hear the slow clinking of heavy chains raising the castle's gate to allow the raiders entry.

_Duncan is still inside_ , she thought distantly. A part of her knew he could hold his own in battle, but the real reason she didn't make a move to skirt along the castle's balustrades and drop inside to seek him out was already gurgling in her stomach. Is it still cowardice if you judiciously avoid something that completely assures your death?  _Yes, it definitely is._

Lapping heat began to sear the edges of her leather armor. Kalya took a chance to raise her head and saw a mass of soldiers storming the courtyard, the bodies of slain Cousland knights breaking up the horde every few steps. Looking back past the Chantry, however, she could see the ranks were thinning. If she could wait it out a little longer…

The patch of flames on the roof to her left suddenly caved in, and a plume of fire reached into the sky. The blaze within threatened to eat its way through the entire roof. She had to make a move.

She slid to the bottom of the roof's slanted eaves and flipped around, dangling by her fingertips. Flames licked the bottoms of her boots from the ground 9 meters beneath her, but the route was still preferable to escape through the collapsing death house. Kalya swung underneath the rafter, feeling for a foothold on the building behind her. When she found purchase, she pushed off the overhang, flipping back around to climb down the wall.

The stone was slick with heat, and as she descended, it was becoming increasingly difficult to keep a sturdy grasp. In fearful haste, she grabbed a hold without testing its temperature and lost her balance. Time seemed to slow as she squirmed to right herself in midair like a cat. At the moment before impact, she tucked in her chin, as Riordan had taught her when taking a fall in a fight, and she flattened her back to take the full impact of the fall.

However worse it would have been if she  _hadn't_  done that, she couldn't imagine. Pain streaked like lightning up her spine from her tailbone.

The flames that had spread out in the surge of her fall instantly wrapped back around her, and Kalya instinctively rolled forward, gnashing her teeth unconsciously against her mounting injuries. Smoke and heat stung her eyes as she sputtered out onto the cobbled road adjacent to Castle Cousland's gaping entrance. Excruciating pain radiated outwards from her coccyx as she stood, but she noted its slight retreat if she could remain hunched over. Trying to blink away blindness, a shape advanced on her, and without thinking, she shot her leg upwards, landing a lucky strike into an unlucky raider's crotch. Thank the Maker for leather armor. As he bent over, she dropped an elbow hard to his spinal cord and he fell to the ground, writhing in pain.

Another raider was upon her. In an instant, her blades were in hand, parrying every attack. Without full visibility, she hesitated lunging in for the kill, but she could sense a weakness behind his strikes. Perhaps they'd been riding for days. When a swift block twisted the man off balance, she sunk her blade in between the floating ribs on the man's side, and he too dropped to the hard stone. As the remaining raiders passed through the gate without distraction, Kalya bent to wrench her weapon from her attacker's body as his life wicked away.

Racing westward towards Riordan's farm, Kalya didn't slow to turn and see if she was being followed. Best to just assume. She hopped the fence encircling the barn. The horses Riordan had left behind for the house's new owners had luckily not been spooked by the thundering cavalcade.

One possession of hers still remained inside the house – the leather armor purchased with Alistair's coin before her trip to Highever. As she threw a saddle on the horse, she surveyed the land surrounding the barn. No one advanced; out in the open, anyway. There was probably time enough to retrieve it. Her current armor curled at its now-singed edges, but it had been a gift from Riordan. She'd make it up to Alistair…

Pulling the saddle strap tight, she mounted the horse and galloped full tilt toward the fence. The beast hopped it, and they continued into the night towards the only destination she assumed Duncan would be heading to next. The place she thought she'd only return to if her mission from Alistair had been a failure. She supposed it was. Denerim.

:::

Back in Denerim, the days seemed to meld together. Kalya's guilt shifted into malaise and back again. The trek from Highever to Denerim had taken only 5 days on horseback, including an afternoon spent gathering herbs for Riordan's salve to ease her aching tailbone. Even with pain as a distraction, the entire ride was fraught with shame.

Kalya relived that night more frequently than she slept. She could have climbed to the highest point in the Highever Alienage, where the raiders wouldn't have bothered glancing, and waited for Duncan's assured exit. Void take her, she could have done  _something_  – warned the guards when she first saw the raiders, scaled the wall herself before they arrived,  _tried_  to fight her way through the horde.

Dying while to saving the Warden Commander seemed infinitely nobler than living with the guilt of running away like a cowardly child.

She sheepishly accepted her old room in her father's house. Embarrassed by accepting the tedium of daily life when heroes were fighting for the king and being slain, she stayed indoors most days and nights, not deigning to return to her old employer and daring anyone to question her. Her father didn't pry. Cyrion was grateful to have his daughter back in his care and regarded her with quiet concern, as one might treat someone in mourning.

Her cousins Shianni and Soris were overjoyed upon her return, but Kalya's sour moods drove them away. Visits became less and less frequent. Soris' behavior didn't surprise her. Cautious and timid ever since they'd been children, he was probably worried what dangerous impulses she'd picked up in her time away. If he only knew.

But Shianni had the spark of adventure in her. If Kalya had  _wanted_  to talk to anyone, she was sure Shianni would have understood her feelings of loss and regret. Still, she remained silent, resigned to relive that awful night in sullen solitude.

When Kalya did leave the house, she poked around the city listlessly, hoping to hear news of anything from Highever or beyond, passing the time by picking the pocket of the occasional traveler or dopey noble. Upon hearing nothing, she'd return with the day's take to present to her father as a sort of rent payment. Or perhaps as an unspoken apology for being so sour. She hadn't decided.

After half a month with no appearance of Duncan, Kalya found herself wandering into the Chantry, eyes glazed over, emotionally spent. She had never been very religious, at least compared to the other city elves. By Dalish standards, she was a downright heathen.

_Am I supposed to close my eyes when I pray?_  she wondered as she approached the Chantry courtyard.  _The Sisters always have those candles. Are they part of the whole deal-with-the-Maker thing, or just décor?_

The great doors creaked as they opened, and she slipped inside, suddenly ashamed at creating a disturbance in such a populated venue. Pew after pew was filled with humans and elves alike, mostly women and children, and the occasional young man. Instinctively, she hugged the wall as she entered, tiptoeing forward.

A Sister in Chantry robes passed, lighting one of their lucky candles with the one in her hand. Kalya dipped her head in reverence as the woman smiled and ducked into a shallow alcove.

"Um, Sister?" Kalya asked. "Am I interrupting a service?"

"No, child, it's been like this the last three days." Lowering her voice, she added, "Families of Grey Wardens."

"Has something happened?"

The Sister shrugged. "Apparently they're to march on Ostagar within the week. Some say darkspawn have made it to the surface, but others think it's just an exercise. No one's sure what to believe."

"Then Duncan's alive!" A woman in a dark shawl turned to scowl at them. Kalya grinned at her. "The Warden Commander!"

"I…suppose he'd have to be."

"Do you want me to light that?" Kalya asked, nodding enthusiastically at the Sister's candle. She could have hugged the woman.

"No, I've… I've got it covered. Thank you."

Kalya skipped to the nearest pew with a sliver of room, knelt for half a minute, and thanked the Maker profusely. She prayed with all her might for the Wardens' continued safety in the upcoming maybe-battle, then rose to burst out the door, flooded with relief.

If Duncan could survive the attack on Highever as a lone Grey Warden, the whole of Ferelden's Wardens could withstand anything. Alistair was less than two weeks' travel away, and surely the Wardens would be heading northeast towards Denerim on their recruitment path, rather than west into the Hinterlands.

She could be back in Alistair's arms before the month's end. The thought left a tickle in the base of her stomach. Kalya blushed in the warm Denerim sun.

:::

Alistair took the bridge of his nose in his hand and rubbed his eyes impatiently. He was getting nowhere. When Duncan had swooped in to save him from a lifetime of boring Templar politics, he had hoped he'd seen the end of veiled threats and futile pissing contests with mages. But the Revered Mother asked him to send a message, and he was going to pass it along if he had to Holy Smite the mage to do it. Would the look on the mage's face be worth the assured lecture from Duncan? Absolutely.

He became distantly aware of someone approaching, but he was determined to get the mage out of camp quickly. When the Revered Mother called for an audience with a mage personally, it was almost never good news, and his headstrong resistance made Alistair antsy. He looked innocent enough, but they always did.

Alistair allowed himself a glance to his left to the figure waiting somewhat impatiently for his attention. His jaw dropped a bit, the unexpected sight completely blocking out whatever the mage was rambling on about.

A new Warden recruit was said to meet him later today, but this… was unexpected. His eyes traveled over her chestnut hair, wrapped in a long, tight braid and resting against her breastplate.

_Huh, they_ do  _make breastplates for women. Have I really only seen Female Wardens who were rogues and mages? Leather is pretty durable, so no need to shape around…things. I wonder if the metal is custom-made or if it's a one-size-fits-all sort of deal, because not_ all _women—oh, Maker, I am_ still _staring at her breastplate, aren't I?_

Alistair looked up to meet her dark eyes. He gulped hard.


	12. Stone's Lament

The news of Duncan alive in Ostagar was a weight lifted off Kalya’s shoulders. Ostagar wasn’t a terribly long trek from the Brecilian Forest, and she’d gone over and over in her mind the travel plans read aloud by the castle guard. He could still head west after his business with the other Wardens and double back to Denerim as his traveling papers had stated. It was all she could cling to.

As an unspoken apology for being so sour, Kalya invited Shianni to pass the days with her in the Market Square. Shianni would dare Kalya to tail the most intelligent-looking mark strolling past the merchants’ wares, sure she’d be caught and have to lose him in the labyrinthine alleys, but Kalya walked away grinning with a haul of coin every time.

In turn, she began spending her spoils on extravagant food items, bringing duck, pheasant, and exotic wines from Orlais back to the house for family dinners. Although wealthy by Alienage standards, her father Cyrion wasn’t used to such exorbitant cuisine on a daily basis. He never asked where she got the coin, and she never offered, but poorly veiled worry and suspicion creasing his face told Kalya everything she wanted to hear: that she was as skilled a rogue as her mother had been. Kalya longed to convince her father she wouldn’t end up with the same fate, but she could never find the words. They ate like nobles for weeks.

Kalya opened up to Shianni about her time with Alistair, and her cousin relished every juicy detail. It was rare for elves to admit to lying with humans, so when the two realized they had that quirk in common, each of them was overjoyed to have found a kindred spirit. Talking about him was surprisingly cathartic for Kalya. Her own internal monologue was harsh and pessimistic, but hearing Shianni’s romantic sighs as they gazed at stars from a tall Alienage roof gave Kalya a pass to revel quietly in girlish fascination.

Visiting the Chantry became a daily ritual. Shianni would wait outside, looking uncomfortable about the whole ordeal, while Kalya slipped in and prayed a unique plea to the Maker, just in case he didn’t count repeats.

Eventually, though, antsiness began to steal back in with no news from the front lines, overtaking Kalya’s short-lived relief over the Wardens’ safety. Unsure murmurs in the packed Chantry gave her none of the answers she needed. Shianni urged for patience, but not even pickpocketing distractions could keep worry from creeping in around the edges of her mind.

Then one day, the streets were eerily silent.

Observed holidays didn’t leave Denerim’s Market Square as empty as they were when Kalya and Shianni emerged from the Alienage gates. Merchants’ posts were left empty, storefront doors were closed, and no local children ran through the streets. The cousins exchanged a worried glance before Kalya was off, hugging the perimeter of the ground-floor hovels circling the town.

A tight circle of hunched bodies convened by the well in the Chantry’s courtyard. All humans. Kalya’s heart thrummed wildly in her chest. As the two approached cautiously, tear-streaked faces turned towards them.

"It’s the king," one woman said. "King Cailan is dead."

Kalya blinked, her mind racing through possible ramifications. The Wardens could still be okay. Sure. The king was said to fancy the front lines. Even with Wardens on all sides, the front lines were dangerous and random. She wanted to shake the woman to continue, but she was frozen.

"The battle at Ostagar," another woman said, voice shaking. "Some- Something went wrong. They lost control of the horde. Everyone… everyone’s dead."

Kalya’s face went slack. Shianni grasped her chest with a gasp.

"Everyone?" Shianni squeaked.

"Cailan’s soldiers, the Grey Wardens, everyone’s dead. Except…th-the queen’s father. I don’t know his name. He and his small group were the only survivors, and even  _they_  barely made it back alive.”

Kalya remained looking straight ahead, seeing nothing. She became aware of Shianni peering at her face and questions continuing. Her eyes blinked slowly, glazing over. Nothing felt real anymore.

Time slowed down, but it was an opposite instinct of fight-or-flight, where adrenaline coursed through her veins and plans of action crystalized in her mind’s eye. Instead, everything was hazy. The air felt thick and suffocating. Moving, speaking, nothing seemed important.

At some point, her shoulders were grasped gently. She was guided away from the staring faces with a worried strength behind the embrace as if she might topple over. Kalya walked where she was led: a beeline through the Market out in the open, the shortest path back to the Alienage.

Eventually, she ended up tucked in her bed in her father’s small apartment. Shianni gingerly helped her undress, and the room darkened. She wondered distantly why someone would think she was tired as she stared into nothingness.

Hours passed, and a tentative creek of the door gave way to a sliver of light. Dinner was offered. Kalya declined.

Alistair gone. Duncan gone. The Grey Wardens gone – Ferelden’s, at least. Were there more called into the fight? Her hope of a future fighting for a noble cause slipped away like ash blowing through her fingertips.

Until she met Alistair, Kalya had stumbled through life, hoping aimlessly for better cause but without the first clue how to get it. With his coin and motivation, Riordan’s training and care, a life of meaning was all but in her grasp. The future she’d seen so clearly for the past 8 months was wiped clean. A waste. Worse than a waste, because Alistair had also been taken from the world. At least before him, she didn’t know the happiness and passion missing from her life.

Tears had come so naturally when saying goodbye to Riordan, she’d had to fight to keep them at bay. Now, nothing came. They didn’t seem worth it.

:::

Shianni stayed close this time, understanding the hurt of loss much more than she’d understood Kalya’s amorphous guilt after her first return. Kalya’s father was no stranger to mourning, and, not wanting to force anything, he and Shianni spent evenings waiting patiently in the main living area, eager to offer support whenever she emerged from the room where she spent most of her time.

Eventually – and rather hastily, in her family’s opinion – Kalya got a washing job at a lower noble’s mansion just outside the Alienage. She often brought sacks of clean laundry home and would remain awake in her room, folding and darning late into the night. Occasionally, her father or cousin would make their way in to offer some company. Kalya would indulge their conversations with quiet detachment.

She was broken. It was an effort for her to even reply most times, but she obliged with an almost meek politeness, which was probably the most concerning thing of all to anyone who truly knew her.

Weeks passed with no change. Going through the motions slowly made them feel right. Well, proper. Normal. This was Kalya’s life now.

On bad days, memories of training to be someone, excitement at the chance to join the Grey Wardens cut through her fogged barrier. These reminders of eagerness and hope left a pit in her stomach even when she quickly dismissed them. On the worst days, she envied the dead Wardens, having fallen with honor defending their nation.

One night at dinner, Kalya’s father went for broke, while Shianni looked on with worry creasing her brow.

"Kalla…" he started. Hearing the nickname he hadn’t used in years might have caused the old Kalya to brace herself dramatically with a roll of the eyes, but now she just looked up blankly from her plate. "We’re so proud of you, and we… we want you to be happy. A girl your age… There are others to work on the laundry at night. Younger elves, with less… responsibilities."

"I’m sorry," she said earnestly. "I should be helping around the house more."

Shianni exchanged a glance with Cyrion.

"That’s… not what I meant. As I said, all I want is for you to be happy, and…"

"We think you should get married," Shianni said.

Kalya met her cousin’s eyes curiously and glanced back at her father.

"Okay."

"A relative of another servant at the estate," Cyrion continued. "He… He comes from Highever, where he was an accomplished smith. He could make a very good life for you. I have a dowry all set up."

"Okay," Kalya said again. Hearing "Highever" didn’t even catch in her heart like it used to. She was doing well.

Shianni cast a suspicious look at her uncle, as if unsure Kalya heard, or perhaps to see if he thought she was calling their bluff.

"I know nothing can replace what… was lost to you," she said, "but this is the chance for a new beginning."

"I look forward to it," said Kalya. Cyrion beamed at her.

"His name is Nelaros," Shianni said. "They say he’s very handsome."

Kalya smiled. Because that was what she was supposed to do.

:::

Dreams were the last bastion of hope that Kalya couldn’t beat into numbness.

Running her fingers over the warm soft grass where she lay next to Alistair, she gazed lazily up at the clouds. Her other hand was entwined in his, and Alistair traced a slow line in her palm with his pinky. She felt full of his love. Assured, relaxed. Peaceful.

They rested their heads against a tremendous warm griffin, and after a time, Alistair leaned over his elf and took her head in his hands. He drew her face into his, and Kalya melted into the softness of his lips. He smelled like spring rain. Explosions of life and loamy nature seemed to burst all around him.

Alistair drew back slowly and nodded towards the griffon. Rising to his feet, he lifted her hand gingerly to help her board, and then situated himself snugly behind her. The great creature lifted to all fours and spread its mighty wings to prepare for takeoff. As it launched into the sky, Alistair’s arms snaked around Kalya’s midsection, taking the beast’s short mane in hand as he pulled her tight. He nuzzled his scruffy beard into the crook of her neck as they tore through a cloud, and she leaned back, exhilarated and serene all at once.

A singsong call broke through the edges of her reverie. A voice. Kalya looked back at Alistair, and his features fuzzed at the edges. The lush green world below began to fade to black as the voice grew louder.

"Cousin? Wake up, cousin."

Shianni’s voice. Ambient light seared through pitch blackness as the tight embrace of the dream ebbed away, taking all warmth and promise and hope with it.

"Why are you still in bed?" Her cousin beamed down at her. "It’s your big day."


	13. Resilient

If nothing else, Kalya was amused to learn that, on one’s wedding day, Morning Drinking was given a pass. Encouraged, even. With revelers beginning their celebrations early in the afternoon, it was only fitting the bride should get a head start. Shianni insisted this extended to family members, as well, and they toasted to Kalya’s future with as much enthusiasm as the two could muster in Cyrion’s small kitchen. Then they toasted to a few more things, just to be sure.

Kalya hoped she was playing the part well, trusting that any hesitance would be chalked up to nerves. She had willingly agreed to this, after all, as much as anyone can agree to the only option left. But intrusive thoughts kept at bay for so long seemed to sense the significance of the day and uncharacteristically broke their way to the surface. Thoughts that she was going to spend the rest of her life _pretending_ pulled annoyingly at strings in the corners of her mind. She tamped them down as hard as she could, then toasted again.

When they finally had their fill, Shianni tugged at Kalya’s arm, insisting she meet her groom before the ceremony was to commence.

So many elves peppered the streets in all stages of revelry, an outsider might have thought it was an observed holiday. In a way, it _was_ a unique occasion; a double wedding hadn’t occurred in years. Kalya’s cousin Soris had also recently been betrothed, and, hoping to pool their meager resources, the family had agreed to hold them on the same day.

With blessedly little pomp and flourish, Shianni led Kalya through the crowds to the center of the Alienage where the ceremony was to be held and where Nelaros waited, looking eager and nervous all on his own.

The sight of him did seem to salve her apprehensive heart. The stories were true. He _was_ quite handsome, and the look of relief on his face that _she_ wasn’t actually a hideous beast was kind of sweet. The two laughed at the awkwardness of the situation when they finally stood before one another. Shianni looked quite proud of herself.

Meek introductions were made, and Nelaros smiled with a hint of mischief in his eyes that nearly made the tension in Kalya’s shoulders melt away. Perhaps she wouldn’t have to pretend so much as she feared.

They were soon met in the square by Soris and his somewhat mousey bride-to-be. Kalya ventured a peek at Soris’ expression as the couples introduced themselves, but if anything, he looked relieved that the mystery was over. It was only when Soris broke off into a rambling story about seating arrangements that Kalya caught Nelaros’ eye, and he winked back with a crooked smile that nearly made her blush.

_There would still be an element of pretend_ , she thought sadly. Even as the wife of a blacksmith, her future still meant staying at home to raise a family of children who would likely grow up to be servants. The chance at glory and making a difference in the world were no less out of reach just because her husband was handsome. _That_ she would never forget.

Swaying and merry-making elves in the crowds began taking notice of the two betrothed couples in the Alienage square, and started to make their way over, likely hoping for festivities to commence and drinking to continue.

As the congregation closed in, Kalya felt the sudden urge to slink into the shadows. Sensing her hesitance, Nelaros placed a tentative hand at the small of her back. She jerked at his touch and immediately flushed with embarrassment.

“Are you all right?” he whispered, low enough that not even Shianni could hear.

“I maybe… don’t love throngs of people,” she answered out the side of her mouth.

“I could create a diversion and you could dive under the stage.” He winked conspiratorially. “Do you think anyone here has ever seen a full-grown elf dancing the Remigold?”

She snorted and answered before she could stop herself. “ _Young_ elves, sure, but definitely never one full-grown.”

Nelaros glanced left and right, considering the crowd’s growing numbers with mock seriousness and suddenly pulled Kalya into an alcove in a nearby alleyway.  She stumbled in her new shoes and blushed when she landed almost completely in her fiancé’s arms.

“Preferable to diving under the stage, I assure you. There have got to be woodland creatures living under there by now.”

Eyebrows raised in an attempt to keep from laughing, Kalya took in Nelaros’ face as if he couldn’t possibly be real.

“By the way, I’ve been trying to stun you with my wit, but I can’t actually tell if it’s working. I don’t suppose you’re terribly turned on by blacksmithing…”

That did it. Kalya broke into a laugh deeper than she had allowed herself in months, elation bubbling up within her with a delight long forgotten. Nelaros squinted back as if she had denied him, and clicked his tongue in mock disappointment.

“Well, that’s what I have to offer. Poorly-thought-out jokes and inappropriate smithing references. I warn you, this marriage may seem longer than all the long years I hope to spend with you.”

The unabashed compliment caught her off guard, and her mouth hung open in stunned silence. Nelaros responded by grasping her hand suddenly and puffing his chest out with a brave nod, steeling them both for a return to the crowds. She was so distracted by how perfectly her small hand fit into his, she nearly forgot to think about the judging gazes of all who would soon be looking on as she said her vows. For an instant, she felt strong again.

As they approached the wooden stage where they were to be married, a commotion caught Kalya’s eye from the entrance of the Alienage. At first she thought it was revelers getting a bit too rowdy, but the shouts of those shoved aside were in genuine panic.

Around the great roots of the vhenadahl, several large humans were elbowing their way to the center of the festivities. They wore the clothing of noblemen and the closer they got to the stage, the more overpowering the stench of ale became – quite a feat on a Wedding Day Celebration.

A ruddy-haired man with an unsettling smile staggered up to them and swayed over Shianni, dwarfing her with his hulking mass. Elves had intimidated her cousin like this before and Shianni had held her own with grace – and a well-placed right hook or two. But this human cracked through her composure and sent her skittering a few steps backward. Advancing on her in a flash, the man swung an arm to the wall at her side, all but pinning her back with his lumbering frame.

The silence of the shocked crowd stirred the man back to the present, and he whirled around to take stock of the elves circled around the stage. He threw his head back and laughed.

"It's a party, isn't it?” he exclaimed. “Grab a whore and have a good time!"

His disgusting tongue ran over his lips as he scanned the congregation like a beast in a butcher’s shop.

“Savor the hunt, boys.” He turned back to Shianni, eyeing her slowly from head to toe. “Take this little elven wench here, so young and vulnerable.”

“Touch me and I’ll gut you, you pig,” Shianni said through gritted teeth.

Sweaty hand firmly in Nelaros’ own, Kalya reached her free arm out to Soris and dragged him close. If he ran off to hide, as he so often did in stressful situations, he was sure to garner more attention than if they remained still and close to one another.

An elven apprentice by the side of the stage stepped forward. “Please, my lord, we’re celebrating weddings here.”

“Silence, worm!” The noble slapped the man across the mouth. He stumbled backwards and landed in the arms of elves surrounding the stage, who tended to him timidly, trying not to attract attention to themselves.

Adrenaline surged through Kalya’s veins and she found herself relishing the feeling, shameless as it was. Shianni’s frightened eyes darted to her cousin’s for an instant, and Kalya shook her head almost imperceptibly. Standing behind him, Kalya had a better angle of attack, should he try anything stupid.

Soris leaned close and whispered so low, she doubted even Nelaros could hear from inches away.

“I know what you’re thinking, but maybe we shouldn’t get involved.”

“Shianni will get herself killed,” she said, narrowing her eyes on the noble.

A scenario flashed before her eyes of pulling a blade from her boot and descending upon him, slicing it across his throat as he fell to his knees. The thought sent butterflies to her stomach, but of course, she had no blades. Not anymore. What was getting into her?

She could all but hear Soris rolling his eyes, his breath escaping in worried defeat.

“Fine, but let’s try to be diplomatic, shall we?”

Kalya inhaled deeply and stepped forward. One chance. That was all she would give them. If things went south as she hoped, bystanders could vouch to city guards that she was acting in self-defense. If guards even cared about the word of an elf...

“What’s this?” The noble’s eyes fixated on Kalya’s breasts as he sauntered over to her. She didn’t flinch. “Another lovely one come to keep me company?”

“You need to leave at once.” Kalya’s heart pounded wildly against her rib cage. In an instant, she could close the gap between him and knock out a few of his favorite teeth with a fist alone. But she urged her body to patience.

The noble laughed and glanced around at his cronies, leading them to snicker along with him. Sycophants.

“Do you have any idea who I am?”

Kalya held his gaze. “A dead man?”

In the delicious few seconds where incredulousness spread across the man’s smug expression, Shianni shot to the altar and grasped a large bottle between her hands. Kalya couldn’t conceal a smile creeping across her face, and the noble furrowed his brow in confusion before spinning on his heel the moment Shianni brought the jug crashing down around his head.

After a few moments of stunned silence, one of the noble’s cronies spoke up.

“Are you insane? This is Vaughan Kendells, the arl of Denerim’s son.”

Shianni covered her mouth in shock, but Kalya just blinked slowly.

“Maybe his father should have taught him better manners,” she said.

Another noble kiss-ass stepped forward, but he seemed wary of descending upon the elves without his faithful leader.

“You’ve a lot of nerve, knife ears. This’ll go badly for you.”

He looked taut for a fight but hesitated a moment, then jerked a head towards his companions. Within a few minutes, they had hoisted Vaughan’s unconscious body on the back of a horse and began heading towards the main Alienage gates.

Shianni stumbled back to her cousins looking a little green.

“Oh, I really messed up this time.”

Kalya was about to offer that it actually couldn’t have gone better when Soris held up a hand and glanced over his shoulder, making sure the nobles were truly out of earshot. “It’ll be all right. He won’t tell anyone an elven woman took him down.”

Kalya flashed blazing eyes at him with such ferocity, he nearly stumbled backward. “And what is _that_ supposed to mean?”

“Just that… a man… a _human_ … wouldn’t, er…”

Shianni looked like she was going to be sick.

“I, uh, I should get cleaned up.”

Hands clapped down on Kalya’s shoulders, and she nearly jumped out of her skin, still primed for battle. It was Nelaros. She blew out a deep breath of air.

“You really shouldn’t do that,” she said.

“Are you all right?” he asked, his voice suddenly hard. “He didn’t touch you, did he?”

Kalya narrowed her eyes at him, at once feeling grateful for his chivalrousness and annoyed that he couldn’t see she had protected herself. Still, it was nice for someone to care. It reminded her of someone…

“I’m fine,” she said, with maybe more edge than she intended. “Th-thank you.”

He joined her side, replacing the grasp with an arm bent around her shoulders, hugging her toward him. The adrenaline ebbing away from her was quickly replaced with exhaustion, and she allowed herself to put a hand on his chest, leaning into his embrace.

:::

When the commotion died down, the city elves were more eager than ever for an excuse for merriment.

Valendrian cleared his throat and addressed the crowd with watery eyes.

“Friends and family, today we celebrate not only this joining, but also our bonds of kin and kind. We are a free people, but that was not always so…”

Kalya snaked a hand behind her back and tried to inconspicuously scratch an itch her silly wedding gown kept inflicting all over her body. Nelaros glanced sideways and offered a hand, hitting the spot she needed perfectly. She widened a grin and dipped her head in thanks.

“Andraste, the Maker’s prophet, freed us of the bonds of slavery. As our community grows, remember that our strength lies in commitment to tradition and to each other.”

Mother Boann approached the altar and bowed towards the elder.

“Thank you, Valendrian. Now, let us begin. In the name of the Maker, who brought us this world, and in whose name we say the Chant of Light, I – my lord. This is an unexpected surprise…”

The entire bridal party turned. Kalya saw a flash of ruddy hair bouncing above the mass of elves, knocking some over in his wake. When the crowd parted, the man stormed up on the stage, followed by his cronies and several armored guards.

Vaughan stopped right between Kalya and Soris’ bride Valora, out of breath and leering down at them. Adrenaline coursed through her body again, begging Kalya to act, but she couldn’t see an out that would spare her entire family. Not with armored guards allowing all manner of violence retaliated against their lord’s “attackers.” So much for the word of an elf.

“Sorry to interrupt, Mother, but I’m having a party, and we’re dreadfully short of female guests.”

His tongue darted quickly across dry lips turned up in a sneer. A few sycophant soldiers tittered, more from duty than their leader’s humor.

Mother Boann’s jaw dropped. “M’lord, this is a _wedding_.”

This caused Vaughan to throw his head back in laughter. The stench emanating from him suggested alcohol had greatly aided in his rapid healing.

“If you want to dress up your pets and have tea parties, that’s _your_ business. But don’t pretend this is a _proper_ wedding.”

To punctuate his point, he shoved Valora backwards, and she fell to her knees on the stage. Soris bent next to her reflexively and earned a kick to the stomach, toppling him backwards.

“Now… we’re here for a good time, aren’t we, boys?”

Kalya balled her hands into fists, and Nelaros took a step in front of her, shielding her body with his own. The gesture was touching, but she was primed for retaliation.

A shining glint caught her eye to Vaughan’s left. Shards from the jug had been haphazardly swept under a table’s linens, but a sliver protruded, just long enough to drive into someone’s gut while she continued an assault on his friends. The guards, well… if she could count on her family to run, she would figure out what to do with them after the bann’s son bled out.

Vaughan prowled before them like a cat, nearly stepping on Valora, still shaking in fear on her hands and knees. His dry lips cracked into a lecherous grin.

“Let’s take those two, the one in the tight dress, and… where’s the bitch that bottled me?”

Kalya’s heart hammered in her chest. She was taut as a bowstring, primed to race to the shiv beneath the table as soon as she saw the chance.

“Over here, Lord Vaughan!” One of the Vaughan’s sycophants grabbed Shianni roughly by the elbow. Kalya willed her cousin to drive the elbow hard into the man’s stomach, but instead she pulled away from him, struggling to escape.

“Let me go, you stuffed-shirt son of a –“

Vaughan laughed again. “Oh, I’ll enjoy taming _her_.”

Kalya could swear she saw a bulge forming in the human’s pants, and the thought turned her stomach. She was an instant from making her move when the man turned on his heel suddenly to face her straight on. His tongue darted out to taste the tension between them.

“And see the pretty bride.” Vaughan ran a hand over his chest, diving it downwards towards his crotch. His eyes rolled along the curves of her waist, making her feel so uncomfortable, she would have rushed him weaponless if it were only _her_ life at stake.

“Ah, yes, such a well-formed little thing…”

“You villains!” Nelaros jerked towards the man, fist raised, but Kalya caught his arm before he could connect.

Vaughan held up a hand to still his men, regarding Nelaros as no more of a threat than a buzzing gnat.

“That’s quite enough,” he said, biting his lip to drink Kalya in. “I’m sure we all want to avoid further… unpleasantness.”

Kalya gulped hard. Vaughan had closed the gap between them, robbing her of the opportunity to lunge for the shard in time. She saw no other option.

“Take me, but let the others go.”

Vaughan stuck out his bottom lip in a pout.

“That wouldn’t be much of a party, now, would it?” He jerked his head towards the soldier closest to them.

Kalya leapt towards Vaughan with arms outstretched, aiming to clasp her nails around the sides of his head and smash it into a rising knee. But months without training had drained her of any former dexterity. He caught her wrists in midair and a fire of mischief alighted in his eyes.

Jerking her body against his, he whispered low in her ear. “Oh, we’re gonna have some fun.” 

A blow from behind connected with the base of Kalya’s cerebellum, and she felt her body crumpling. The world around her faded to black before she hit the ground.


	14. Rabble-Rouser

Alistair shifted uncomfortably on the cold stone outcropping around the perimeter of Lothering. He felt naked wearing just his leathers, but with a price on the heads of the two remaining Grey Wardens, he and Elissa had opted to keep a relatively low profile, and that meant minimal armor. For the moment. It was still up for discussion. Well, not  _his_  discussion, as was becoming abundantly clear.

Between the witch's berating every comment to come out of his mouth, the bard's incessant chatter bordering on heresy, and the way Elissa continued to regard him as a wounded dog after his catatonic silence following Duncan's death, Alistair saw little point in trying to get a word in edgewise, at least until they made their next move.

The most recent evening's topic had been whether or not to release the gigantic Qunari criminal in the center of town from his cell. Alistair had been on the dissenting side, laughing uproariously when it had been mentioned in the tavern over dinner. Upon learning they were serious, via two dropped jaws and an eye roll, he quickly turned his attention to the suddenly very interesting stew and heel of bread he'd been consuming.

One good thing about joining forces with Leliana was that the small group amassed significantly more coin, which had procured them two whole rooms above the tavern for at least the next few days. The girls had gone off to bed early to prepare for the next day's ferreting out bandits from the surrounding area. Alistair's time after dinner had been spent alone in his room meticulously writing and rewriting a letter to the only person he had left in this world to fight for.

The thought of Kalya's dark russet hair tucked carefully behind a tender ear was what had finally roused Alistair from his numb depression when the Grey Wardens were annihilated. Imagining her half smile warmed him, smirking like she knew every one of his tricks, heard all of his jokes, but loved him still. Thinking about her radiated warmth throughout his body until he felt the strength to rejoin the cause he'd pledged his life for: saving Ferelden from the Blight. Although she couldn't have known it, Kalya helped him remember he was needed now more than ever. He  _intended_  to let her know, vowing forever more to keep her and Thedas safe or die trying.

The first letter he'd already handed off to a jumpy Dalish elf who had broken from his wandering tribe to see for himself if the Blight rumblings were true. After nearly running headfirst into the battle at Ostagar, the elf had retreated to Lothering, and was currently working up the nerve to head back and report his findings to his tribe. Alcohol played a large part in rallying his courage, and Alistair had persuaded the young elf over drinks to bring the letter back with him.

When Alistair and Kalya had parted, he'd recommended she leave the dangers of Denerim behind and start a new life with the Dalish. Her quick skills with a knife were sure to benefit the wandering clans greatly, and although Alistair's Chantry upbringing mentioned little about their culture, he was sure they would be welcoming to one of their own. He hoped.

The coin he'd given had also probably been sufficient to get her as far as Highever. The Alienage there was said to be nice enough, and, from what little Elissa had mentioned of the attack that shattered her home, the elven quarter would have been left unharmed. That was where Alistair planned to send the second letter – that is, if his courier ever showed up.

A snapping twig broke Alistair from his reverie. From out of the shadows emerged the young woman who had tried to pick his pocket the day before, still smirking in exactly the same way as she had when he'd caught her by the wrist. Short black hair feathered neatly about her chin with an endearing red scar across her nose, the woman was likely able to charm her way out of any trouble her thievery got her into.

When her eyes fell on the letter in Alistair's hand, she actually threw her head back and laughed at him. Hidden blades in her hands glinted in the light from the nearby town.

"You actually  _do_  have a letter," she said.

"Yes, I… what did you think?"

"I  _thought_  you might be luring me out here to slit my throat."

"W—And you came anyway?"

"I  _also_  thought you might still take me up on my offer."

Alistair felt his cheeks flush and thanked the Maker for darkness.

"Yes, well, this letter is for my… my lady, so I'm – I'm afraid not. Uh, thank you though."

The woman raised her eyes to the night sky in sarcastic prayer. "Why do I let these sandy blondes break my heart?"

"You'll still take it, though? I didn't  _have_  to keep my mouth shut when the City Watch walked by with your hand in my pocket."

She rolled her eyes. "Please. I know a fugitive when I see one. I should have brought my brother along to show him how  _not_  to act when we clear the hell out of here."

Alistair couldn't even muster a menacing glare. He stood blinking at the woman, running over who else he could possibly give the letter to. If his companions  _did_  free the Qunari, they'd need to leave town in a hurry, and he wasn't sure when they'd come across another town next.

The woman shifted her weight and spun her blades back into the holsters at her sides.

"Relax, lover boy. I'll bring your letter to Highever. And, hey, if my family can't get on one of those ships to Kirkwall, maybe we can all shack up with your lady friend."

Alistair gaped at her until she leaned forward and snatched the letter from his hand, rolling her eyes.

"Well, this has been a  _blast_." The woman curtsied deeply before him without breaking eye contact. "And tell that saucy brunette you're traveling with to cool it with the hexes. I've seen some Templars milling about, and they're even less fun than  _you_."

With that, she spun on her heel and made her way back into the shadows. It was all Alistair could do to hope  _one_  of his letters made it into Kalya's hands.

:::

"Maker keep us, Maker protect us. Maker keep us, Maker protect us."

Mother Boann's frightened chant permeated the edges Kalya's dreamless sleep, words curling into her subconscious like tendrils of a plant, beckoning her to awaken. She obeyed slowly and was rewarded with a painful throbbing in the back of her head.

Eyes open to a too-bright room, Kalya saw Shianni roll her eyes at the Chantry woman's litany and suddenly take notice of her cousin blinking on the floor. Shianni rushed to her side.

"Oh, thank the Maker you've come to. We were so worried."

Shianni helped her upright slowly. Besides the dull pain in her head, there was something about her hazy awakenings that comforted Kalya… a forgotten recollection she couldn't grasp.

The events of the afternoon came back to her, and she recognized her surroundings as a lush estate that must have belonged to Vaughan's father. Fuzzy shapes of Valora, another female elf, and Mother Boann slowly came into focus. Captives. She knew what would come next. Disgust shuddered through her, but she willed herself calm.

"Is everyone all right?"

Shianni scowled towards the barred door. "We're unharmed so far. They locked us in here to wait until that bastard is 'ready for us'."

The room began spinning around Kalya, but it wasn't dizziness. Something else, something dimly familiar threatened to overtake her senses. Every rational thought told her to tamp it down, to play the part, but a primal urge from within threatened to flush her with adrenaline and lose herself in savage revenge.

She knew now the comforting and familiar sensation she had felt upon awaking. The metallic twinge of blood in her mouth. The thrill of retribution to come. Training with Riordan, it wasn't unusual to awake confused and tasting blood after a deft blow from a wooden practice sword. The man always looked sheepish, but, in the same breath, recited the benefits of being stunned by pain and fighting through it.

When she recognized the forgotten urge, she almost felt ridiculous. It was the resolve to live despite unknown odds, to fight, to survive. She had grown so accustomed to miming the monotony of Alienage life, to accept what was being handed to her, no matter how tawdry or painful. Was this only different because her life was at risk? Because her family were threatened, because she didn't know what they'd done with Nelaros? Did it matter?

"We kill the first human that opens the door," she said suddenly.

The elf she didn't recognize scoffed. "We're five unarmed women. What makes you think we can kill  _anyone_?"

"Well, you can follow my lead."

Kalya scanned the room for anything that could be used as a weapon. Lush décor adorned the walls, but the parlor was obviously sparse on purpose. A few heavy texts lined an ancient bookshelf near the back wall and next to an overstuffed armchair much too large to be used as anything but a doorstop. Fire raged behind a metal screen, naturally without any pointy hearth tools.

The frightened elf spoke up again, eyes refusing to raise from the floor. "Look, we'll do what they want, go home, and try to forget this ever happened."

"Did they  _look_  like rational, forgiving humans?" Kalya asked. "Surely you've heard of Vaughn's  _tendencies_."

Mother Boann returned to her fevered recitations, rocking back and forth faster than before.

"She's right," Valora said, sidling up to the frightened elf, unable to meet Kalya's eyes. "It'll be worse if we resist."

"It'll be worse if we  _don't_!" Shianni shook her head in disbelief, but Kalya raised a hand. Over the crackle of the fire, she thought they could hear something.

Echoing footsteps approached, but they were still faint. The elves had a few moments. Kalya ran for the bookshelves. Grasping an armful of books, she rushed towards the fire, dumping them into a pile before the hearth.

The clopping of footsteps became louder.

Thrusting the fireplace gate aside and bending the covers back, Kalya lit the thin pages within. Then she gingerly closed the hard leather, careful to keep the flames alight, and thrust it into Valora's hands.

"Are you mad?" she asked.

"Take it! There's not much time!"

The elf carefully took the book by the spine as the pages crackled, a tiny flame leaping from its center. Kalya quickly did the same for as many books in the small pile as she could, handing them off to everyone in the room.

The footsteps were right outside the door now. When they stopped, locks began clicking one by one. Kalya ran to the door with a simmering tome in each hand and flattened herself against the wall.

When the door opened, three guards stepped in unhelmed, eager to drink the women in before their own turns. Kalya stepped in front of them and smashed a fiery open book into the faces of two of the men, searing their flesh with a sickening hiss.

"Now!" Kalya screamed, and the elves jumped to action, lobbing flaming books towards the guards. Many missed their mark, but the onslaught significantly slowed the men and broiled their metal armor.

The assault didn't last long, but it bought Kalya time to snatch a sword from one guard, driving it upwards under his chin. Without having trained in months, she could do little more than parry their advances. Two-handed weapons were too bulky for her lithe frame even at the peak of her strength. Still, the commotion worked to her advantage as she cut down several guards with great effort before they could descend upon the scattering elves.

Kalya's focus fixed on a solitary scenario before her, time slowing as it always had when she was primed for survival. Four bodies currently lay slumped on the floor, dead or incapacitated. Five guards remained.

If she could bash in the temple of another unhelmed soldier – even with the hilt of her sword – he could be thrown off balance enough to fall onto the man next to him, buying her seconds to raise the great sword over her head and angle it downwards into the neck of the third soldier. The others…would be dealt with soon enough.

In milliseconds, the opportunity would pass, so she wound up for the first swing. As she did, the furthest guard broke free from the pack, advancing into the room on an easy target, Mother Boann, who remained crouched in a tight ball, rocking back and forth.

Kalya connected with the man closest to her right as the soldier ran the Mother through with his blade as easily as a hot knife into butter. The Chantry woman rolled to the side without uttering another sound, sticky red wetness already spreading across her torso. Gaping at the scene, Kalya missed her opponent's advance, and he wrenched her arms behind her. Shianni was dragged back into the room by a guard she'd been attacking with her fists.

As Valora and her companion backed into a corner whimpering and shivering, Kalya bucked a heel backwards into the crotch of the guard holding her. He was protected by armor, but the sensation was uncomfortable enough as metal joints pinned around his nether regions. Angrily, he flung her back into the room. She stumbled over her feet, landing in a heap right next to the dead woman.

The guard captain stepped forward from the doorway with a sneer plastered across his sweaty face.

"You pretty little wenches won't get off that easy. Lord Vaughan's expecting a party, and we intend to bring him one. Isn't that right, boys?"

The four other guards grunted in agreement.

The man sidled up to the soldier holding Shianni's arms tight. Leaning towards her, he licked a slimy path from her chin to her earlobe.

"Stay away from us!" Shianni screamed, still trying to wriggle free. Her wrenching earned a savage backhand to the face, and she crumpled to the ground. In an instant, the captain was by her side, grasping her cheeks in his fists, leveling her glare to his.

Kalya thought he might smash her head into the stone ground, but a chuckle escaped his lips, and a line of spittle stretched across his gruesome sneer.

In a thick voice almost too low for the others to hear, he growled close into Shianni's ear, "It feels better when you struggle."


	15. Punisher

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Trigger warning: allusions to rape._

With one last squeeze, the captain let Shianni's face go and nodded towards the nearest guard.

"You grab the little flower cowering in the corner. Horace and I will take the homely bride and the drunk. You two bind the last one. She's the scrapper."

Kalya scuttled backwards towards the bookcase, but the men were on her in an instant. Shianni and the others were dragged from the room as Kalya searched frantically for a way to defend herself.

"Don't worry," the round-faced guard said, pulling her up by one arm. "We'll be perfect gentlemen."

Her face a mask of surrender, Kalya walked a few defeated steps with the two men, then slammed against the one to her left with all her might. It was enough to knock him off balance, and she deftly swung underneath a hook he sloppily aimed for her head. Jerking his arm down, she tried to get him to sock his own partner, but he pulled the punch at the last moment.

The man roared with frustration and pinned her down against the hard stone floor as his partner stumbled backwards. Kalya hooked a leg between his, trying to grapple and flip him onto his side, but the man had a weight advantage no rogue could match.

As she struggled, Kalya heard someone approach the doorway. The captain must have handed off the prisoners to Vaughan already, meaning they were quite near. The thought occurred to her that if moving Kalya proved too great a challenge, perhaps the three would just hold her down right there while…

"H-Hello?"

That couldn't be… Soris! Kalya had no idea how he'd broken in, but the momentary distraction was all she needed. Her attacker snorted with derision at the tiny elf, and, turning his attention back to Kalya, he missed Soris crouch and slide a long dagger across the ground. She stopped it with the flat of her palm, closed her fist around the handle, and drove the blade up into the man's neck. Blood spurted hot on her face as he slumped forward. She rolled out from under the dead weight.

The final guard raised his hands defensively and backed against the fireplace. He wasn't as outnumbered as he probably thought – Kalya couldn't remember Soris holding a weapon in his life – but she was all too happy to let him think that. She wiped blood from her stinging eyes and advanced on the man, kicking him savagely in the solar plexus. When he bent forward, breathless, she slashed his under neck with the dagger. The soldier dropped to the ground.

Soris stood blinking at her, frightened, as she struggled to catch her breath. He shook his head to clear his thoughts, and his eyes landed on the dead Chantry woman.

"I can't believe they killed her," he said. "I can't believe  _you_ … Are you all right? They didn't… hurt you, did they?"

"I'm fine. Did you see which way they took the others?"

Soris nodded behind him.

"Nelaros is guarding the door just off this main hall. He'll have heard which way they went."

The two elves ran through the corridors, stopping only to pick up a simple crossbow for Soris and making quick work of unsuspecting guards patrolling the labyrinthine passages of the estate.

When they reached the doorway Nelaros was to be hiding behind, Kalya furtively peered into the lushly decorated antechamber to find the room empty. That's when they heard the screams. Shianni's agony reverberated throughout the stone walls, coming from a door on the opposite side of the room. The air left Kalya's lungs. For a long moment, she couldn't move, but the silence that followed was even more terrifying. She sprinted past Soris and flung open the door without a thought for stealth.

The sight before her made her stomach drop. She was too late, for one horrific act at least. Shianni lay on the ground, her ceremonial skirts bunched around her waist, legs spread wide to accommodate the arl's son on his knees before her. A line of about ten guards stood watch as the disgusting scene came to an end and Vaughan rose to his feet, tucking himself back into his britches. Kalya averted her eyes.

Her gaze fell on Nelaros at the far end of the gawkers, arms bound behind his back, face bruised and bloodied. The guards were slow to react to her quiet intrusion, relishing the show their boss had just put on for them, perhaps hoping for a go next. Without thinking, she advanced towards Nelaros when a longsword pointed at her throat halted her tracks.

"See?" One of the sycophants spoke up, nodding to the intruders. "I told you there'd be more. Elves run in packs, like rodents"

The guard captain nodded to Vaughan for orders. "Should we keep the knife-eared bitch alive?"

"Hey!" Nelaros puffed his chest out, struggling against his captors. "That's my wife, you son of a bitch."

The blacksmith's thick arms bulged in their grip.

Vaughan sauntered slowly to the elf who dropped his weight, nearly pulling his captors off balance. He was primed to pounce the moment he could break free. For an instant, Kalya thought she saw fear flash across Vaughan's face, but his lips suddenly curled into a mischievous smile.

What happened next took mere seconds to unfold. The glint of a blade in Vaughan's grip caught her attention, and she lunged for the man with all her might, hitting low and throwing him back, toppling over a group soldiers.

Nelaros roared with fury and swung his great arms around his body, bringing with them a guard hanging onto each. Their heads slammed together with a sickening crack. When they crumpled to the ground, the elf took a fallen sword and hefted it savagely into the weak joints in their armor.

The commotion spurred Soris to action, and he shot one bolt, then two, then three through the chests of the soldiers hunched over Shianni. As they fell backward, eyes wide and shocked as he was, any guard who might have considered approaching the helpless elf on the ground suddenly turned heel and went to aid their guard captain.

The group of men knocked over by Vaughan tried scrambling to their feet, but stiff armor limited their agility. Kalya slashed the throats of the closest two men, barely off their backs. A third man parried from his knees and swung a low arc back.

Jumping over a swing that missed her legs by a hair, she kicked at the crook of his elbow enough to loose the sword from his grip. Before he could grab it, Kalya held her dagger against the stone ground and drove an elbow against the back of his neck, forcing his face into the blade.

Kalya sat back on her heels. Blood pooled at her feet, and she heard Nelaros groan before she could survey the scene.

Panting in the doorway, Soris kept his crossbow trained on Vaughan to Kalya's left, but a pained expression creased his face. She followed his gaze. To her right, the guard captain had run a blade full to the hilt into Nelaros' side and twisted it slowly. The elf looked dazed, and a pommel-shaped bruise formed on his temple, arm wrenched behind his back. The guard captain smiled at her.

Nelaros thickly looked down at the widening circle of red on his nuptial garments. With his last ounce of strength, he shot an apologetic and deeply sorrowful look at Kalya that tore her insides.

The vision in her periphery blacked out, and she saw only the guard captain standing before her, Vaughan and the unconscious assailants forgotten. Thoughts and consequences ceased, and for a millisecond, she felt as if she might be driven mad. As Nelaros dropped to the ground, she charged the man in blind fury and pinned him to the wall, blade against his throat.

"You're in the Arl's estate, girl," he said, cocky tone belied by a bead of sweat collecting on his brow. "Do you really think you'll make it out of here alive?"

Kalya blinked once, her face unchanging. "No." With a flick of her wrist, the blade slashed across his neck. She licked her lips as his blood spurted across her face.

When she spun around to advance on Vaughan, he had been half-heartedly holding Shianni at knifepoint on the ground. With Soris' crossbow still trained on him and seeing the savage flame alight in Kalya's eyes, he dropped the blade and scrabbled backwards against the wall. Shianni crawled to Soris' feet, staying hunched in a tight ball.

Kalya strode towards the man slowly. His simpering figure fueled the rage within her.

"I'll… I'll give you anything you want. I have money, jewels…"

"What makes you think I want something from you, shem?" she spat.

A shivering behind her perked Kalya's ears, but she didn't break eye contact with the man on the floor.

Shianni spoke up, voice ragged. "Please just get me out of here. I want to go home."

Vaughan glanced desperately between the three elves, raising both hands in front of him.

"Think for a minute. Kill me a-and you ruin more lives than just your own. You know how this ends. Or… we could talk this through, now that you have my undivided attention."

The image of her father pacing his home, worried about the very person who might be dooming his fate, raised gooseflesh on her arms.

"If you have something to say, say it."

The man seemed confused, blinking incredulously around the room, looking for an exit or guard left alive. He found none.

"I only mean that… well, you have your friend back. The others are just beyond that threshold." He waved an arm towards a door to his right. "You've bested the men blocking your path here, so you can clearly make an exit."

Kalya sunk into a crouch before him, slamming the blade into the ground, inches from his foot. The man stammered to spit out his point.

"K-Kill me now, and my father won't let that go. He tends to get… vengeful about this sort of thing. But let me live, and I'll pardon the lot of you. This I vow."

She cocked her head to the side, and the man straightened up slightly, misreading her expression for a consideration of his offer.

"Why kill an arl's son? What am I to you? Let me buy my freedom, and I swear you'll have yours."

She lifted the dagger, spinning its point around a delicate finger. It was nice to have a human cowering underneath her, and she relished in the moment. Until it was over.

Flicking her wrist, the tip of the blade bit into the soft flesh at Vaughan's throat. A line of blood ran down his neck.

"And what of Shianni's freedom, from a life of nightmares, a life of wondering when you'll be back for a reprise of your actions here tonight?"

"I won't! I swear it. What do I have to give you to convince you of my word?" His voice shook with terror, and he tried in vain to scramble backwards through the wall.

"You know, on second thought, I  _will_  take the jewels."

Kalya drove the blade furiously downwards between the man's legs, stabbing through his manhood and anything nearby with a satisfying thunk.

The man shrieked in pain, his agony reverberating against the chamber walls. A wisp of mercy wafted through Kalya's mind, and she considered lifting the blade to slice the rapist's throat and end it quickly, if only to shut him up.

But as he gasped for breath before his next deafening scream, she twisted the knife, grinding it against the floor. She could feel flesh being ripped as it swirled, her heart beating furiously with the surge of adrenaline. It was only when Vaughan passed out from pain that she lifted the weapon and drove it deep into his neck, pinning him to the wall with such force, only the hilt remained visible.


	16. Casteless

Silence overtook the group on the slow walk back to the Alienage.

Soris led them out of the estate the way he’d come in, through the servants’ passage, where they avoided any further confrontation with guards. Shianni leaned against her cousin without a word, as Kalya wrapped an arm around her shoulder, trying to bear the brunt of her weight.

The night air felt too still after such violence, as if the town were in silent mourning. For the horrors that had befallen Shianni or the death of their rapist Arl prince, Kalya couldn’t be sure. She fought to tamp down the wrong feelings of satisfied retribution still surging through her veins. Justice had been served, though moments too late for some.

Valora favored one leg with a slight limp but looked otherwise unharmed. Soris placed a tentative hand on the backs of his bride-to-be and her bridesmaid as if they were set to wilt at any moment. He cast sidelong glances at Kalya that she doubted were out of concern. When she had spun around to face Soris, spattered with blood, after pinning Vaughan to the wall with her blade, he’d drawn back in terror, as if she had tapped into a wild rage she couldn’t turn off.

When they reached Cyrion’s doorstep, the man emerged and embraced his daughter with a ferocity that made Shianni jump. He asked blessedly little, lingering his eyes a beat too long on their bloodied wedding garments, and offered his home to the group for whatever they might need. Soris looked to his companions who bowed their heads solemnly, and the three took their leave. Grabbing an arm awkwardly in front of her body, Shianni leaned harder against Kalya, and they slipped past Cyrion and retired to her room. Neither slept much.

Hours later, adrenaline was still coursing through Kalya’s veins as she stared unblinking at the ceiling. She hoped Shianni’s shallow breathing meant she’d at least found momentary peace. Days ago, Kalya would have embraced whatever punishment was inevitably to come from murdering nobility. Without Alistair, and now without even Nelaros, a real prison wouldn’t be so different than the one she had already felt trapped within.

But now… exacting revenge on the men who had committed such crimes had felt so right, so just. Training with Riordan had given her strength and hope to join the Grey Wardens and do right in Thedas, protecting the innocent from darkspawn taint. With Ferelden’s Grey Wardens dead, she hadn’t imagined another cause honorable enough to serve within. But those guards were tainted in a different way. And tonight, one woman had made a difference. Even alone, taking care of filth one human at a time was as noble a cause as any. The fire to survive burned bright within her as it hadn’t for months.

But she had messed it up. She acted impulsively and doomed her whole Alienage as a result. She curled to one side as softly as she could, away from Shianni. Wasn’t this always the way? Just when she found the will to go on, just when she figured out how she might actually make it, the path became impassable, dooming all she loved in the process. All she loved who were still _alive_...

Scenarios flashed through her mind almost too fast to focus on. The furious Arl exacting revenge for the loss of his son in a public execution; her head on the chopping block. The new Captain of the Guard setting the Alienage alight for the loss of his troops. Cyrion, Shianni, Soris, bent and broken, lying dead in the streets. 

One thought crystalized clearer than the others: she couldn’t save the entire Alienage, but she could ensure at least her family wouldn’t pay for the sins she’d committed. It seemed cowardly. Shame encircled her just as it had on that roof outside Highever Castle, sentencing Duncan and its inhabitants to death. But wasn’t it nobler to live to fight another day than die in a no-win scenario? She could smuggle her family onto a dwarven cart set to Highever and start a new life, now that she had something to live for. Revenge.

Her body thrummed with energy. The guards would waste no time, even with slimmed ranks. She rocked the bed roughly, hoping to wake her cousin without a touch. The early dawn would be breaking, and her body shivered with the need to act. When Shianni’s eyes fluttered open, Kalya shared her plan, recommending she head home to pack essential belongings and meet back in an hour’s time. The elf nodded solemnly, eyes still wild with fear even upon waking, and the two slipped out into the living room.

Cyrion’s bedroom door was open, the interior dim. Kalya’s heart dropped. She had hoped to round him up before he got off to work, but perhaps she could send Soris to the Castle after him while she packed for the both of them.

Insisting she was well enough to return on her own, Shianni melted into the shadows towards her family’s house. Kalya slid old daggers into her boots and left the house sprinting towards the small shack Valora’s family had given her and Soris as a wedding gift.

She skidded to a stop when she rounded the vhenadahl, still decorated with wilting adornments. From across the town square, she saw Cyrion’s arms shackled behind his back. The new guard captain was forcing him to his knees. A long blade glinted in its sheath at his side. Before she could scream out, a hand cupped around her mouth and she was tackled into a shaded alleyway.

Soris was lucky her senses were dulled by lack of sleep. He pressed a finger to his lips as she struggled to right herself from the shock.

“He won’t give you up, Kalya,” he whispered. Sorrow creased his face. He looked so tired, so much older than yesterday. “You need to go.”

“I can get us out of here. All of us. Tell Valora to grab what she can carry, and we’ll head north with Shianni just as soon as –”

“Valendrian struck a deal with the Guard Captain. Your life for Vaughan’s, and they won’t ransack the village. But your father won’t accept that, and now he’s going to get himself killed.” He looked at the ground sadly. “Don’t let his sacrifice be in vain. Just _go_.”

Kalya gaped at him. Was he truly so gullible? “So they can hunt down everyone in our family because I’m a coward, and then ransack the village once I’m gone?”

She peered around her cousin to catch a glimpse of her father on his knees. Nothing had changed, but the flick of a blade would only take seconds. Soris pushed her back into hiding, his strength surprising.

“Declan woke me up this morning. He overheard soldiers in the mess hall being _reamed_ by a Senator, saying absolutely no other elves were to be harmed. Just you, as appeasement to the Arl. Something about needing to look healthy for their Tevinter guest?”

The words flitted through Kalya’s mind, none taking hold. Every limb surged with the itch to act.

 “I need to save him! I need to help all of you!”

Soris braced his forearm against her chest, a sensation so foreign to her. Even as children, he’d never stood in her way before.

“Kayla, I don’t think they know we were with you. They’re saying you acted alone…”

“I can’t let my father die for it!”

“We can’t let _you_ die,” he said, shaking his head. “What you did there… Let us repay you for saving Shianni and countless others who’ve been living in fear. Just take this gift your father is giving you and _go_." 

“No!” she shouted, finally shoving her weight against his and breaking free into the clearing. He stumbled a few steps backward, glancing terrified at the group who took notice of them.

Kalya squared off to the guard captain and two soldiers across the clearing. 20 meters separated them, and they blocked the only exit out of the Alienage.

Cyrion stood up to protest, but his tied limbs threw him off balance. He crumpled into Valendrian’s arms. A soldier began to unsheathe his sword, but the captain held out a hand to still him.

Praying Soris was right, that she was truly the only one they wanted, Kalya darted wide towards the Alienage front gates. The guards descended on her in moments, leaving Cyrion behind. She was primed for evasion. The fastest soldier swept his longsword in a wide arc aimed for her head. She ducked, then sprung up, launching into the side of a nearby building and bounding ahead off the ball of her foot. Weight dropped in attack stance, the soldiers weren’t prepared for her furious energy, and she added a dozen meters between them as she bounded through the portcullis.

Once out of the Alienage, Denerim’s front gates were still a long way off. Nagging aches from months of no training already pricked at her loose muscles. Kalya was agile, but no match for human strides. She would never make it on foot.

An idea formed without much chance to reconsider. The buildings surrounding the town’s perimeter were the thinnest in the poorer sections right outside the elven quarters. She jerked left and shimmied up the side of a jutting, rocky exterior.

Encumbered by armor, the soldiers below wouldn’t dare follow, so they sprinted along the inner edge. She ran parallel along the rooftops, conspicuously staying within their sights, as much to ensure they didn’t turn back to the Alienage as she was making it easy for them to pursue her.

The only thought as she bobbed along the rooftops was getting outside city walls, away from innocent bystanders or additional soldiers to complicate the fight. The next step, however, was fuzzy. Would she lead them into the Brecilian Forests? To, what, launch an attack from the trees? She doubted they had much combat training in wooded environments, but still… her own skill was months in pause. She realized with a heavy pang that it no longer mattered if Soris’ story was true. Her life was forfeit. She could either kill these soldiers and escape on her own, selfishly, cowardly, never to return. Or she would die by their hands. And if she did somehow survive their attack, highway bandits or creatures of the forest would surely kill her in days. Resolve settled within her. If her family lived, that was enough.

A familiar rooftop filled her with fleeting hope as she approached. If speculation was true from her days of hiding amongst the shadows, a defensive gate lay several blocks ahead. It and its twin on the other side of town existed, she assumed, as a route for soldiers to launch pincer attacks on anyone attacking Denerim from its entrance. She prayed guards from the Arl’s estate would be in possession of the gate’s keys, if it were actually used for such a thing and not a rotted exit lost to time.

Kalya’s heart pounded as the soldiers’ sprinting figures neared the gate below. She made a show of diving towards the far edge, hopeful that they would follow, then shimmied down the craggy exterior of Denerim’s outer perimeter. Releasing her holds, she dropped the last few meters and pressed her ear to the thick door. At first, she heard nothing but chirps of wildlife from the forest behind her. Her stomach dropped as she imagined them turning heel and heading back the way they came. But a few moments passed, and she could hear the faint clicking of locks in the cold hallway. They were on their way! She guessed there were several more doors within, which bought her a head start as she headed for the forest.

The smells of greenery hit Kalya with a wave of giddy emotion that overtook her senses before she fought to cram it down. A knot formed in her throat. For a moment, the sensations had erased the horrors that had befallen Shianni and Nelaros, and those that likely awaited Cyrion and everyone left alive. The smells reminded her of Highever, of training with Riordan. They reminded her of a time she had been powerful and free. With a shake of her head, the memories dissipated in the muggy heat. 

Shouts from the guards slogging through the wood snapped her back, and she darted around thick clumps of growth. She needed more distance between them to pull off the maneuver she planned. Their lack of dexterity on the uneven terrain was like to give her a chance if she found the right land formation. But impatient retribution thrummed through her body, urging her to end the fight sooner. The two small daggers shoved in her boots would have to be enough. With numbers on their side, Kalya would have to take the guards by surprise from above or by luring them into a cave notched into the rocky hillsides.

A path jutted off to her right and she juked left then took the steep incline with thick trees to provide cover. She hoped they would split up to cover more ground and she could take them one at a time, but they pushed on in a tight triangle, minutes from descending upon her.

Breathless from the sprinted climb, Kalya pushed on, craning around to keep their location in sight. The ground flattened abruptly and she whipped her head around just in time to skid to a stop, whacking her arms out to grab onto two small trees dotting the peak of the steep precipice.

There was no way back down around the guards, and the sheer rockface in front of her was impossible to climb down. Far below, a craggy outcropping of rocks jutted high at odd angles. If the surrounding trees had been sturdier, she might have baited her pursuers into tackling her, then scrambled up them at the last moment, but there was no chance on the tiny saplings. Beads of sweat pooled on her forehead.

“Little elfling, what _are_ we to do?” A gravelly voice beside Kalya nearly startled her into slipping over the edge. Pebbles plinked down the rockface from underfoot.

Kalya was stunned into silence, forgetting to breathe as her heart banged around her chest. An older human woman with thick silvery hair tied in horned points sneered down at her. A mage for sure, the woman hovered half a meter above the ground. Kalya was transfixed, blinking in confusion. She’d never been this close to a magic user. The woman’s golden eyes shone in the dusky light, mesmerizing Kalya before she jerked back to the present and shot a look towards her pursuers, now moments away.

“Well, don’t just stand there gaping, child. Ready yourself!”

“Will…will you help me fight them off?”

“I’ll do you one better,” the woman said and extended an arm fiercely towards Kalya.

Though the mage didn’t make contact, Kalya felt as if she had been hit by a dwarven cart at full speed as she flew backwards off the mountain. Time slowed, and three shapes appeared at the shrinking precipice. The captain in front jutted his own arms out to protect his companions from meeting a similar fate. More pebbles trickled over the edge. 

The woman was gone. Distant desperation ran through Kalya’s mind, and she wondered if it had been an illusion, if she had fabricated a braver excuse than suicide to launch herself off the mountain. At least she’d robbed the guards the satisfaction of dealing the deathblow.

In those last few moments of free-fall, that same exhilarating freedom wrapped around her. She allowed the fragrant wind to overtake her thoughts and senses, calming her completely for the first time in as long as she could remember. The pain of losing Alistair, of losing Nelaros, of failure and cowardice, everything melted away with the knowledge that it would all be over soon.

Impact was sudden and crushing. Kalya’s spine bent around a diagonal spired rock and redness flooded her vision. Before drifting to total blackness, the last thought that flitted through her mind was that she’d always thought death would hurt more than this. An instant later, nothingness consumed her.


	17. Witch Hunter

A foreign landscape fuzzed at the edges of Kalya's vision. Numbness wrapped each limb and she blinked slowly, moving as if underwater. She watched curiously as green-blue wisps curled around the craggy rocks that dotted the ground. Although Kalya never dreamt, she knew this place instantly. The Fade.

Pain and emotion seemed so distant… so primitive. Her body floated weightlessly above the sepia terrain. A mouse scurried before her, leaving a trail of grey mist in its wake. Kalya made to massage feeling back into her arms, her movements thick and slow.

A shimmering line of light caught at the edge of her vision, and she hovered closer to it, curious. Brilliant color seeped through the crack, odd against the hazy backdrop. An involuntary shudder sent her flitting backward, but the tear widened, pulling her closer. Then, all at once, her body jerked violently towards the crevice, ripping it at the seams. Blinding brightness consumed her whole consciousness as weight re-enveloped her form.

Pain radiated from her spine, rattling each limb as Kalya's eyes blinked open. The sensation didn't last, and her muscles tingled as they knit themselves back together. She had the urge to stretch as widely as she could in every direction, as if she suddenly took up less space than she was supposed to.

"So  _eager_  to get back to it," a woman's voice croaked. "Curious for a girl who would have the world believe she preferred death."

Kalya craned her neck upward and instantly regretted it. Stiffness consumed her, and she braced herself for a jolt of pain, but none came.

Radiant in the noonday sun, the witch's stood over Kalya's crumpled body, lips curled into a smirk. A warm blue light emanated from her hands, and the last remnants of discomfort in Kalya's body ebbed away completely.

Without the distraction of pain, Kalya suddenly jerked her head to the precipice above. How much time had passed? Were the guards still hunting her?

The witch chuckled, as if hearing her thoughts.

"Oh, they won't be giving you any more trouble."

"They think I'm dead," Kalya said, stunned.

"In truth, they  _were_  correct. But they are no longer."

A snapping branch caught her attention, and she whipped her head around. It was just a sparrow landing on a dying tree in the ravine.

"They're long gone," the witch continued. "Plate armor doesn't make the best rappelling gear."

"And my family? The rest of the Alienage?"

"Safe, safe. Your cousin was correct."

Kayla's jaw dropped. How did she…

"The death of the Arl's son was advantageous for more than just nubile young elves. His tastes were… politically inconvenient. Your family won't be punished for removing that complication. Now that your death has been exchanged in kind, that is."

The words spun in her mind. It was almost too much to take in, but the healing had left her invigorated, sharp.

"Why did you save me?"

The witch cast her a sidelong glance before returning her gaze to the skies.

"Why do you save a spider from being trampled when it ventures underfoot? In the larger scheme, you share common prey."

Kalya suddenly felt very afraid of the mage standing before her. She gulped and nodded slowly back at her.

When the silence between them became uncomfortable, one last question echoed in her mind. Her life's path had unfolded so many different directions in the past few months… She was to be a Grey Warden, a blacksmith's wife, with her family on the run, a martyr. What was her destiny now?

"Well, thank you," Kalya mustered, unsure of what else to say. The woman waved her hand in the air.

"Thank me by using your gift for justice rather than sacrifice. You don't owe Thedas anything. Thedas owes  _you_."

Kalya coughed out a laugh. "My gift?"

The woman narrowed her eyes. "Your  _spirit_ , child. Your thirst for vengeance. That can't be trained, and the world needs more of it." With that, the woman spread her arms and began to hover off the ground.

"Where am I supposed to go?" Kayla said. "I have nothing!"

"You've had nothing before," the woman called back. "But you have more than you know." With that, the witch vanished.

Kalya stared, mouth open, at the spot where the mage had just been. Her cryptic words still hung in the air. Uncertainty about the future made Kalya's insides churn, but the witch had been correct in one regard. She was no stranger to starting over.

:::

Sleeping outside in Denerim was much colder than Highever had ever been, but Kalya figured it was as good a place as any to carry out the old woman's enigmatic blessing. Her  _gift_. What a laugh. Kalya sat shivering underneath a stinking pile of waste behind a busy tavern, wondering if this was what the witch had in mind when she gave her life back. At least it was warmer than sleeping on rooftops, which she'd done the first few nights.

It was too dangerous to return to the Alienage. A pang of guilt hit her each time she imagined her father mourning her death alongside Shianni and Soris, but they were safe, and that was all that mattered.

In a few days' time, she'd stolen enough coin to procure a hooded leather garment that would hide her ears and identity from anyone who might have known her in the Markets before. She'd even paid full price to the Fine Dwarven Craftsman selling it. It was the least she could do, since the oblivious travelers that hunched around his cart had provided her with fat pockets to pick.

After casing a shoddy building across from the Spotted Pig for several nights, Kalya confirmed that a decrepit apartment on its top floor was indeed uninhabited. When hardship hit the people of Denerim, they up and abandoned their lots, leaving hovels and run-down flats ripe for the picking. The only danger was fighting off other squatters. She picked the lock one moonless night to find a dusty den with rotting floorboards, papers strewn about, and likely a few rodent roommates, but no signs of recent life. She also discovered a bed, an indulgence that lifted her spirits unexpectedly. Maybe she  _did_  have more than she knew, after all. A spark of luck available only at rock bottom.

Though the surroundings lent comfort, it was still meters away from the last and only place she'd ever seen Alistair alive. The feeling of his smooth skin against hers, his musky scent, and the warmth they shared all those months ago ghosted at the edge of her memory in the moments before sleep. Add to that the inability to afford luxuries like booze to dull the loneliness, and her proximity to the Spotted Pig was all the more cruel.

She began to sleep during the day and spent nights creeping around, stealing from drunks who might later assume they'd spent their missing coin on themselves and forgotten. On days when she had enough to eat, she spent the time shadowboxing, trying to hone her skills to where they had once been. Crime had gone up in Denerim, and a part of Kalya hungered for the chance to use her blades for good, to do what the guards did not seem to care to.

When she felt competent enough, she tested her strength on the occasional vagrant harassing someone weaker than him, or protecting victims of domestic violence heard from blocks away. She fought with restraint, only wounding them enough to fear her showing up again. No permanent damage. Well, scars were permanent, but nothing  _lethal_. Rumors of a hooded figure bloodying a few ne'er-do-wells would attract less attention than some vigilante on a killing spree. Probably.

Not all she did could be considered "justice." When watching a pickpocket silkily snatch a purse, she'd tail the thief into a back alley, knock him unconscious, and take to the rooftops. She could have returned the money, but it was a risk that she might be blamed rather than thanked. That and she needed it.

An elf with coin  _anywhere_  was a rare and suspect sight, which made Kalya hesitant to eat in taverns or restaurants. Perfectly content to nick food in alley rubbish bins, she was surprised to find her spoils accumulating slowly. It was a strange sight to behold in the evenings – dozens of flickering candle nubs illuminating a dusty room shimmering with coin and trinkets.

Then the degree of her intervention rose from petty thievery.

At a small shop near the Alienage, Kalya witnessed a female shopkeep kicking a mabari hound for making off with delicious merchandise. That night, Kalya descended from the shop's roof when the woman's back was turned and dropped an elbow on the woman's spine. When she crumpled to the cobblestone ground, Kalya stomped a foot savagely into her midsection and whispered a promise of more if she ever lifted her hand to an animal again.

Kalya's favored brand of justice was instilling fear into the hearts of those who would prey on women. It wasn't too difficult to find such culprits if you knew where to look, namely alleyways and darkened corners in and around the Gnawed Noble, the Spotted Pig, and the Pearl. More nights than she could count, she'd hidden in the darkness of the eaves and stopped a crime against virtue as a couple stumbled out of their cups with two entirely different plans of how the rest of the night would unfold.

The instances were not all so cut-and-dry.

An elf in scrubbing rags with a purple bruise blooming across one eye was an odd sight to see in the early morning. Odder still was watching her sob into the shoulder of an equally tattered human in a cooking uniform. Had she run to a friend for solace, or had  _he_  inflicted the bruises upon her and this was making-up? Kalya's fingers twitched on the hilt of her dagger with want to act, but she had to live by a code. She had to be sure.

Days later, she saw the elf again, with a different hand-shaped bruise on her arm and the human nowhere to be seen. The assailants Kalya caught later that night suffered a particularly vicious beating.

Perhaps it was her intervention or the chilling turn of the seasons, but physical street crime seemed to be on the decline. If she believed in the witch's prophecy, it was all she could hope that word had gotten out of a faceless vigilante exacting justice on behalf of those unable to defend themselves.

In the inky blackness of the new moon, Kalya lurked behind a barrel full to bursting of some foul-smelling ale. An unsteady human stumbled out of the Pearl, tripping over the hearth and shooting an arm to the doorframe to steady himself.

He wore fine silks of grey and blue, soiled from a day's sweat, and he lolled his head left and right, as if lazily looking for someone. Deciding he was alone, he made for the main road away from Kalya's hiding spot. A man in such finery wouldn't miss a few silvers. He might even have a sovereign on him. Winter was approaching fast, and with trash bins picked clean of edible sustenance by the serving elves who filled them, she would need to dip into her savings soon. Might as well bulk it up while she still could.

She crept up to the man who was now making more sideways momentum than forward, scraping harshly against the exterior of the building. She imagined with a pang of jealousy the lavish warm bed that would go unoccupied tonight in favor of the hard curb a few steps away.

The streets were quiet, but someone could emerge from the tavern at any moment. Still, she had the confidence of a wolf stalking a sleeping halla. This one would be easy. She would bump into him accidentally, and as he stumbled a bit, she would slide a hand into his satchel and relieve him of the fat coin purse within.

Kalya took a deep breath and closed the space between them in an instant. The moment she made contact with the back of his arm, the man surprised her by driving an elbow towards her face. He connected, clipping her jaw and spinning out of the way. Blinking, she wondered for a split second if the man had been faking his drunkenness, but the momentum of the swing left him careening towards the opposite wall. He shot up a heavy hand to support himself, strings of greasy hair falling into his face. He was hammered. Then how…?

In one fluid movement, Kalya removed the blades from her boots. She didn't want to  _kill_  the blighter, but the situation was suddenly more evenly matched than she would have liked. He crumpled against his forearm, hunching over as if he were about to vomit. She decided not to find out if that was a ruse, too, and descended upon him. Crouching low, she swept his ankle. When his foot didn't budge, she popped up and drove the butt of her dagger into the crook of his elbow, hoping to jerk his head forward into the jagged wall.

One step ahead of her, he cupped the pommel the moment it made contact, then twisted, bending her wrist painfully inward. When she jerked backwards to pull free, he spun towards the motion, colliding against her with hurricane force. They slammed back into the outer wall of the Spotted Pig, his giant hands gripping her shoulders.

The impact knocked the wind out of Kalya. Suddenly furious, she bucked a knee upwards into his crotch, but the man dodged back, still pinning her arms to her sides. When her squirms gained no purchase, her anger turned to fear. The drunk had inhuman strength. She gulped unconsciously.

The man lifted his head. Through the greasy strands of hair draping his eyes, a spark of realization electrified his gaze. His gravelly voice was thick with drink, but Kalya would have recognized that accent anywhere.

"You never  _were_  good at that move, were you?"

Riordan.


	18. Last of the Wardens

_Art by the insanely talented Olivegbg!_

* * *

 

Riordan.

Kalya's mouth dropped open. Riordan was in Denerim. It didn't make any sense, but nothing else mattered. She dove towards the man, collapsing into a tight hug that sent him staggering back a few steps. Eyes welling with tears, she ground her face into his torso, grateful he couldn't see her cry.

When they parted, Kalya had to stop herself from inviting him to shoot the shit over a boiling pot of stew like they were used to. She had so much to tell him, so much to ask, but the thought breaking back into her dirty hovel in front of him was too embarrassing.

He raised a hand toward the seedy tavern he had just emerged from.

"Shall we?" he asked, his words thick.

"Yeah, are you… good?"

Riordan chuckled lightly, but the smile didn't reach his eyes. "I think I'm done for the night, but you look like you could use some meat on your bones."

It was odd to hear his usually too-proper Orlesian accent with softened edges. Whether it was broken by the defeat that drove him to drink or the drink itself, she couldn't tell. She hoped it was the latter.

The two settled into a booth near the Pearl's entrance. It had been a long while since Kalya had been inside an establishment. Riordan ordered her a Fereldan Mead and a bowl of stew from the bartender, who knew better than to linger. Still, Kalya shrugged deep into her cloak, shielding her face from any number of patrons she might have assaulted before. Plus, she'd never actually been inside the part-tavern/mostly-brothel, and the too-shadowy corners made her squirm. She fought the itch to swap places with Riordan, to have her own back to the wall. But perhaps he needed the protection more than she.

She wanted to tell how much she missed him, how it warmed her to see him again. Ask what in Thedas he was doing back in Ferelden and how long he'd be staying. But she couldn't help herself. There was one thing she needed to know above all else, the question that kept her from restful sleep.

"Riordan, what happened to the Grey Wardens? I've heard terrible things."

His pause confirmed what she had feared. "I'm afraid they're all true," he said, eyes glued to the table below him. "Ferelden's Grey Wardens are dead. They say they conspired against the king, leaving him to die on the battlefield."

This part she  _hadn't_  heard.

"That… they would never! They  _serve_  the king!"

"Technically, they serve Thedas, but even in the most dire of circumstances –"

The bartender approached, placing the stew and drink in front of Riordan. He pushed it to Kalya with a thinly veiled sneer as the man hurried off.

"They were in the middle of a darkspawn attack," Kalya hissed.

"Rumors say Cailan and his closest advisors were to bear the brunt of the attack. It was to look like an accident – one which backfired at the last minute."

"Who is reporting this?" Kalya pounded her fist on the table, nearly overturning her stew. The hour was late enough that drunks at the surrounding tables barely lifted their heads, but she still slunk back in her seat.

Riordan shook his head sadly. "I hope to have that answer by tomorrow at dawn. I've been granted an audience with the king's sole surviving advisor, Loghain Mac Tir, who witnessed the 'treachery' firsthand. He vowed to clear the air of hearsay, which should be  _refreshing_."

The last sentence was gritted through his jaw.

Kalya lifted the stew in both hands. It was her first warm meal in months, but it tasted like ash in her mouth.

Riordan barked a laugh humorlessly. "There was even a rumor some Grey Wardens had survived."

Kalya's eyes widened and she set the bowl down without a word.

"No, no, child, I'm sorry to mislead you. It's been proven false. No one could have survived a… massacre like that."

A few moments of silence passed between them. Kalya almost deigned to ask why the man who only enjoyed the occasional glass of Orlesian Red was stinking drunk the day before meeting one of the highest ranking members of Ferelden's government, when she remembered. The man had also lost someone. His best friend, Duncan.

The faraway look in his eyes tore at her heart. His gaze dropped to his hands, folded in his lap. The robust and confident Warden she had trained with was sapped from the shell of the man before her. Riordan was broken.

Finally he looked up. Tears welled in his cloudy eyes as they met her gaze, overflowing into a line streaked down his face.

"Kalya, I can't tell you what solace it gives an old man to find you here in Denerim. When I heard… I assumed you had Joined with Duncan in Highever. I thought you were with them when they..."

"I wish I were," she spat and instantly regretted it. His eyes flashed wide in horror, and then, just as quickly, deadened back to a blank stare. She didn't want to know why he could empathize. "I just mean… Riordan, I've failed everyone."

The man cocked his head, searching her gaze with such sorrow, Kalya couldn't hold it in any longer. Stories spilled from her between sips of mead, tales of her shameful cowardice at Highever's gates, her sheepish return, her marriage day, and all the events that had transpired since. He listened with unmoving attention.

When silence fell once more, the bartender coughed from behind the bar. The two snapped out of their reverie. No other patrons remained, and the man wiped the counter slowly, looking very much like he wanted to leave without a fight. Riordan cleared his throat and ordered a thick mug of Dwarven Ale. The barkeep delivered it wearily, then watched with wonder as the rogue slammed it back and tossed him a gold sovereign – well over the price they owed.

The glossy sheen returned to Riordan's eyes. Heavily, he rose to his feet and ushered his young pupil out the door. A chill in the night air sent a shiver down Kalya's spine. Winter wasn't soon off. Riordan draped a fatherly arm around the outside of her cloak.

"'S getting harder and harder to get to sleep," he said, by way of apology.

"Do you still have nightmares?" asked Kalya.

Riordan looked away, pain pleating the lines of his face. "They don't get better, child."

When they reached Denerim's main square in the silence of the night, neither knew how to say goodbye.

"I'm staying just down that way," he said sheepishly.

"Yeah, I should get to… sleeping."

The Orlesian suddenly grasped Kalya by her shoulders, concern creasing his brow. When her own father bade her to stay safe, he was met with rolled eyes, but this was somehow different. He was the last person she could let down.

"Kalya, you should leave the city," he said.

"Where would…"

"I don't know where. It's true that Highever's no longer safe, but Denerim is the lion's den. You know I don't believe Ferelden's Grey Wardens would ever abandon their king, and whatever I find out tomorrow… It's just not safe for you here."

Kalya tried to keep emotion from her voice, but she wasn't strong enough even for that. "I don't have anywhere else to go."

Riordan took in the sight of her for another long moment, and then pulled her close for a great hug. The way he grasped her, it was as if he thought they truly might never see each other again.

When they parted, Riordan gazed down at her, looking more clearheaded than he had all evening. "You haven't failed  _me_ , Kalya. The Maker answered my prayers once. Perhaps He'll keep you safe once again."

With that, the man stepped back and bowed deeply, wavering ever so slightly before making his way down the cobbled road.

Kalya was relieved neither of them voiced what they both feared to be true.

As her once-dignified instructor staggered toward the dirty bed-and-breakfast, she crystallized his presence in her mind. Not this broken figure before her. The gentle man who saved her several times over. The man who taught her things no Grey Warden should pass to the uninitiated. The man she loved like a father, although she'd never voiced the words. Perhaps she should have.

Every evening for the next two weeks, Kalya returned to their same booth in the front corner of the Pearl, waiting. Through the thickening haze of ale – more and more each night, applied like a salve – realization slowly permeated her consciousness that he wasn't coming back.


	19. A Paragon of Her Kind

Alistair nearly fell to the ground in exaltation when he finally reached the surface. His companions had remained behind, all too eager to participate in the next day's Proving, spending the interim sizing up their enemies – or getting blind drunk, depending on who you asked. With export booming, fewer and fewer fine dwarven crafts were coming up in Alistair's size underground, and slogging through the Deep Roads had done wonders to lighten their load, as he donated piece by piece of his armor to the underground caverns. They'd be right at home next to the veritable stalagmites of tattered pantaloons they seemed to keep coming across.

When he offered to head topside to stock up on anything they might need – supplies, staves, meat that didn't taste like nugs – Elissa and Oghren had grunted so dismissively, he doubted they'd notice he was gone.

Bodahn and his ward Sandal promised not to stray too far, but Alistair was more worried about their safety. With their protection leagues underground, the dwarves' overflowing caravan was surely a lavish temptation for bandits and thieves.

As he stepped into the chill evening air, no longer distracted by the climb, a dull melancholy wrapped itself around him.

Though he was traveling with more people than he ever had, Alistair hadn't felt this alone since his childhood in Redcliffe's stables. Grey Wardens traveled in smaller regiments, endured the Joining side by side, and had similar backgrounds and goals. Now he was being led by Elissa, greener than he to the order, and fighting alongside a cavalcade more diverse than a traveling theater troupe.

Still, tales of their misadventures would make for a great story to tell Kalya when he returned. The thought of regaling his exploits to her before a roaring fire was one of the happiest images he could conjure. It kept him going when the feelings of alienation from the motley crew was at its worst.

Oghren was a berserker, a discipline with little discipline, which went against all Templar training. Such training was Alistair's life, so they had little to talk about. Alistair hadn't met many dwarves, besides the ones in Redcliffe's markets, and – not to be racist, of course, but many of them acted the same. Fierce with pride, low on manners, crazy strong, with a high tolerance for alcohol. In forced conversation, they got on well enough, when Alistair wasn't being mocked. Which was actually all the time, come to think of it. So… Whee.

Morrigan, not surprisingly, kept her distance. He'd long since given up trying to convince her that he had no plans to turn her in as an apostate, and had recently begun considering it just as a means of shutting her up. Elissa hated their rows, but seemed to put an end to it only after Morrigan had the last word. When he left their underground encampment for the surface, he heard her mutter that he needn't bother returning. He almost muttered back that she could hang herself in her own web, but he held his tongue.

Elissa was… difficult. Her beauty could take breath from the most chaste of Chantry boys at 100 yards. And her valiant attitude in the face of injustice was something that should have electrified the righteous almost-Templar within him to stand beside her with no question.

But there was something so humorless about her. So unwavering was her sense of authority, she had, on more than one occasion, delivered justice to a situation that had been morally ambiguous in Alistair's eyes. She simply acknowledged no gray area.

If Alistair had thought those decisions wrong, he made no motion to vocalize his concern. Not out of respect, but weakness. He couldn't deny he craved approval from the one party member who wasn't outright hostile towards his very existence. Even the mabari eyed him with suspicion. What a fun group he'd latched onto!

In the quiet moments between battles, huddled around the fire in the evenings or readying supplies at dawn, Alistair caught himself lingering too long around their leader. The scent of her hair blossomed into the space around her. Even her aroma after battle was all at once feminine, powerful, and intoxicating. Too often, he caught himself drawing her essence in with closed eyes and had to force himself to lean back.

He wasn't a creep. At least, he didn't  _think_  he was.

Even so, in those late nights with their tents so near to one another, listening to her soft breathing just centimeters away from his head, her muscled frame often found its way into the shameful imaginings Alistair concocted in his head before he fell asleep. Guilt washed over him after the last jerk of his wrist, night after night.

He convinced himself it was simply the camaraderie and companionship he missed. He wasn't actually attracted to her. She was nothing like Kalya.

Still, he had to give Elissa due respect for assuming the leadership position he could not. After the massacre at Ostagar, Alistair had all but been immovable in the Korcari Wilds. In his heart of hearts, he knew he wouldn't have been able to continue his sworn duties without Elissa's urging and inspiration. He felt emboldened beneath her command, and following orders was at least something he was good at. Anyway, he didn't trust himself to lead with unpleasant memories of Duncan, Cailan, and the countless other wardens he'd lost haunting him still in the midst of battles.

Alistair hadn't yet shared with Elissa why he truly missed Cailan so much, though the secret he'd kept his whole life felt ever more pertinent to share with every passing day. That was a conversation for another time. Soon. He probably would soon. Maybe.

"Ho there!" Bodahn waved high in the air as Alistair rounded the stone path from Orzammar's great doors to Gherlen's Pass. Sandal followed suit, waving with the same ferocity.

"Bodahn!" Alistair nearly sprinted to the merchants, though it felt like he'd been climbing for hours. "I can't tell you how nice it is to see you."

The dwarf tried valiantly to mask the oddness of this too-familiar greeting, and a blush crept to Alistair's cheeks. He  _did_  need more friends.

"I just meant it's pretty tense down there. Civil war, drama with the royal lineage – it sounds like a romance novel!"

The tradesman didn't miss a beat. "Tell me about it, ser. Couldn't be happier to be topside. Not a day goes by that I don't thank the Ancestors to be as far from royal blood as one can get."

Alistair rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably. "Heh, don't we all." An awkward moment passed. "How goes the trading business?"

"Not many travelers this far west, ser. Everyone seems to be fleeing north, to Highever's ports. Just as well, though. Less people desperate enough to cause trouble." Bodhan laughed nervously, forcing a smile a bit too hard.

Alistair tried not to think about why there were no travelers on the road – the Blight, the massacre at Lothering, all the horrible things he had been sworn to prevent and powerless to stop. He was a miserable failure at hiding his shame, and the old dwarf scrambled to take pity on him.

"Gherlen's Pass is lovely, though," he said. "I was rather expecting a harsh welcome, but these topside traders have been nothing but enthusiastic. Even got me some new cheese knives, if you're interested!"

On cue, Sandal held up an exquisite bone-handled serving knife like a prize. Alistair couldn't help letting slip a good-natured chuckle.

" _Speaking_  of not being able to fit into my armor," he said, "I've actually come to stock up. The Deep Roads are not kind to Chainmail."

"No, they wouldn't be, would they?" Bodhan spun around to dig under the canvas encircling his caravan. "You're in luck, my boy! We've just come 'cross a trader from Denerim and… oh. Oh, yes, I forgot. They came with a bit of bad news."

Alistair's face went slack. A chill lanced through his spine. He couldn't imagine what could be worse than what he'd already let fall upon Ferelden. The dwarf bit the inside of his cheek in hesitation.

"That girl I traveled with for a spell. Kalya, it was. You said you and she were acquainted?"

Alistair suddenly felt very hot. His heartbeat pulsed wildly against the insides of his weakened armor.

"Yes, we were – I know her. W-what did you hear?"

"I'm sorry to say, lad. She was… Well, I'm not sure of the specifics, but she's… passed on."

Strength sapped from his knees, and the man stumbled backwards into a large boulder. He shot out an arm, not breaking eye contact with the dwarf as he dropped. It was suddenly impossible to breathe.

"She… she was supposed to be..."

Bodhan twisted canvas between his huge hands.

"I'm terribly sorry to be the one to... As I've said, I left her a few days out of Highever, but my source was  _quite_  sure it was her. Said she spent a lot of time in Denerim's market, pinching from oblivious tourists, and passing the coin to him for his wares. Apparently, she upset the wrong guards and was chased to the surrounding forest cliffs. My friend was at the gates when the guards returned, plenty pleased with themsel—" Bodhan trailed off, clearing his throat.

Tears gathered in Alistair's eyes, threatening to overflow but remaining still. He had been wrong earlier.  _This_  was alone. There was no one else now, no one to fight for. His gaze pierced through the dwarves, seeing nothing.

"I'm so sorry, lad. She was a good elf, that one."

"Kalya?" Sandal asked.

"Yes, son. You remember Kalya."

"I like Kalya."

"I did… I do too, Sandal."

Alistair felt for the moss beneath his hand on the boulder. He felt for blades of grass. Although sturdy on the rock, he felt like he was slipping. Everything he had trained for his whole life, with Templars and then Grey Wardens, was to protect the realm and his loved ones within. Now, instead of dying alongside all those he'd failed, his exquisite punishment was to live on, knowing that his negligence had brought the destruction of everything he survived for.


	20. Grease the Wheels

Days blurred into weeks for Kalya, thanks in no small part to the medication peddled by the Pearl's bartender.

Winter approached like a sudden tidal crash over Denerim. With fewer travelers, there were fewer discarded meals in back-alley bins, fewer pockets to pick. Kalya saw no alternative to dipping into the spoils piling up in her dirty hovel. It wouldn't last forever, but she was numb to the consequences. And she intended to remain numb.

Though her leathers had never been expressly feminine, she traded with a back-alley merchant for thicker, less form-fitting armor. She kept her chestnut hair cropped short and wore her hood up at all times. On the few occasions she needed to speak, the rare passerby or trader was met with a gravely, low voice she hoped passed as a young man's. Although the Pearl's bartender had seen her several times since her meeting with Riordan, he regarded her as someone he hadn't met, leaving mug after mug at the table's edge without so much as another word.

In moments of lucidity, dark thoughts of regret and shame consumed her. It was just as well everyone thought she was dead. Thoughts of her family's embarrassment and shame at how she was living set her spiraling deeper and deeper into her cups. She awoke in the late afternoons, dry-mouthed and hazy, with a throbbing headache. The hour's worth of exercise and knife forms in her flat through gritted teeth was as much about keeping her skills sharp as it was self-flagellation.

Hair of the dog from a hidden flask quieted the pain while she stumbled the streets at dusk. When she descended upon the occasional mark to relieve him of coin or malevolent intentions, she was constantly surprised at emerging victorious. Maybe she feared consequences less while intoxicated, rushing into fights with more ferocity and less self-preservation.

Often, the dark thoughts mocked her weakness, singing of an easier way out. That was about the time of night, only hours after she awoke, she found herself shuffling back to the Pearl. To drown the thoughts out or to succumb to them, she was never certain.

Regulars learned quickly to leave her alone. She was a cobra who stayed in her corner of the garden, striking with blinding speed at anyone who dared venture too close. The only thing that cowed her was a group of slim mercenaries who descended upon the brothel every couple weeks or so. They dressed in all-black leathers, and she could swear the large majority of them were elves, hiding her ears as she did, but she never stayed long enough to find out. Something about their masks of cold indifference gave her the chills. Perhaps her time with Riordan had at least given her a sense to steer clear of opponents with whom her skills were not matched.

The Pearl is where the routine usually ceased, night after night. At dawn, the barkeep would nudge her roughly enough to wake her up, and then return silently to his duties, leaving behind a full frothing mug. Kalya would toss it back and lurch home, to sleep off the rest of the day. The cycle went on for months, punctuated only by the occasional sober day spent in the fetal position, sobbing pitifully and vowing to turn it all around. Those days, thoughts of Riordan or Alistair weren't kept at bay and ended with Kalya tunneling through piled belongings in her cold hovel, searching for a bottle of  _anything_  to descend her back into the comfort of paralysis and begin the routine anew.

The characters who bellied up to the Pearl alongside her were a study in diversity, and Kalya was always on the lookout for weaknesses to bank and capitalize on later. Through the haze, she was still able to pick up on odd traits and behaviors. An elderly man who paid no mind to the parade of scantily clad women and returned each night with no more than a buzz to a warm and loving home. A beggar woman in the connected room along the left wall, who lit the candle on her table with the flick of her wrist when she thought no one was looking. A washed-up Templar faintly glowing blue who never imbibed in alcohol but spend evenings muttering to himself, occasionally getting lured to the backrooms by an opportunistic escort.

One busy night, when the bartender wasn't able to serve Kalya as quickly as she needed, she distantly recognized a woman she had seen months earlier. The bruised elf in scrubbing rags who had tearfully sought solace in a human man's arms. She was dressed quite differently, her skin now unmarked, as she veered down the hallway to the right upon entering – the side Kalya never dared investigate.

At dawn, the woman re-emerged sheepishly, averting her eyes from the few customers who remained. Kalya had been lazily trailing a finger around the top of her empty mug, awaiting her final serving before heading home, when she lolled her head enough to watch the elf rush past. Her eye was pinkish-blue and nearly swollen shut. Dried blood crusted right below her nose.

Kalya palmed two hands on the table to lift herself up, but the vicious spinning of the room slammed her back to her seat.

In the early evening of the next day, she awoke with the same pounding headache as always. The forced exercise was exquisitely painful, but something tugged at her distant consciousness, warning against imbibing on the various liquid breakfast options stashed around her apartment.

Only a few hours passed before violent shakes sent her to the Pearl. She could think of little else besides quieting the screaming within, but snippets of the previous night fuzzed at the edges of her memory. When the same female elf walked through the door, purpled eye swelling slightly less, Kalya jolted painfully to attention. Recollection flowed through her with a spark she hadn't felt in months.

Hungover and flirting with withdrawals, there wasn't much she could do besides observe. The patron doing this to her had to be someone Kalya had seen, possibly someone she'd bested before. She watched who came and went, deliberately slowing her consumption, even by a scant one drink an evening.

A feverishly painful week passed before she could recognize a pattern. One night, a scant four mugs of Dwarven Ale deep, she saw him.

Short blond hair, a cocky swagger, and thick plate armor reserved exclusively for the wealthy Arl's soldiers, he never arrived without a duo of sycophants cheering on his nightly conquests. If you were stupid enough to call trading coin for sex in a  _brothel_  a "conquest." She should have known it was him the moment she laid eyes on him, but it wasn't until she lined up the timing of his arrival and subsequent stay with the elf's tearful exit, fresh welts marking her flesh, that she knew for sure.

The next evening, Kalya's skin felt electrified in the dark booth when she watched the bruised elf again return to work, jaw set strong and steeled for the inevitable. Nursing her second ale slowly, her pulse quickened as a boisterous group of young men entered and fanned out to all corners of the tavern. They looked familiar, but she couldn't place if they were the soldier's compatriots or some of the rowdy regulars in fine armor.

Two in particular caught her attention – a stocky black-haired man built like a bear with a jagged scar across his eye and a shorter reed-thin blond, hair flowing long from a dark hood. She couldn't swear it, but they seemed to be locking eyes from opposite sides of the tavern, their gaze broken only after what could have been a nod of agreement or a coincidental twitch. The blond man took a seat alone in the long adjoining room to left while the bear faked interest in conversation with a beautiful elf at the bar. Where else would she recognize them from?

Kalya raised a finger to the bartender and grunted for another ale, flicking a silver at the man when he sat it before her. His eyebrow pricked in surprise. Payment was usually reserved for the end of consumption, and it wasn't even midnight. She growled an over-enunciated " _Thank_  you" to dismiss him as she brought the mug to her lips. Tension dissipating with the first sip of its bubbly coolness, her gaze returned to the scarred bear, who was now pretending to laugh at the woman's joke, and the blond who was… gone!

He had just been leaning back in his chair, boots on the wooden tabletop, and now: nowhere to be seen. Kalya slammed the mug on the table, nearly causing it to froth over as she leaned forward to see if he was headed down the brothel hallway. He couldn't have gotten far in seconds! She leaned back to peer into the corner of the room behind her obstructed by a wall. Nothing.

Whipping back around, Kalya yelped in surprise. The blond man sat silently across the booth from her, lips curled into a self-satisfied smirk. She pressed a palm against her chest to still its angry pulsing, frustrated that her knee-jerk reaction hadn't been to stab him in the face.

Piercing pain lanced through her temples. The rush of adrenaline had sufficiently stirred up the progress the ale had made to quiet her withdrawals, leaving her drained and throbbing. Eyes alight with fury, Kalya glared through the man before her, forcing her mind to sharpen. He wouldn't get a second chance to surprise her.

It was only when he cocked his head to one side, revealing a long tattoo on one side of his tanned face, that she noticed two peaks poking up almost imperceptibly on either side of his hood.

The realization annoyed her. Of  _course_  he was an elf. Elven men knew full well that humans fetishized elven women, so the cockier among them went out of their way to play the chivalrous white knight, expecting their marks to melt in a puddle of goo at their feet. Well, he'd picked the wrong mark.

He slid a small tumbler of amber liquid across the table, another detail she'd missed, keeping a second cupped in his slender hand. Dipping his head, he raised his glass to her before taking a sip. She didn't join him.

"So, I'm asking myself," he purred, an Antivan lilt to his words, "'why is this beautiful woman disguised as a man grunting angrily at anyone who comes near?' You  _do_  understand the purpose of a brothel, do you not?"

"I'm looking for someone," she said, refusing to break eye contact. Her glare was unreturned.

"Ah, yes. Well, in that case, a brothel is the  _perfect_  place to… find someone."

"I'm looking to slit his throat. Maybe you know him. Human, blond hair, shit-eating grin?"

His disarming gaze had the opposite effect, making her more suspicious of his intentions. Hands at her sides, Kalya inconspicuously crossed her legs to slide the dagger from her boot. The inside seam felt much too flat. Eyes widening in panic, she patted around for the handle that must have slipped behind her ankle.

The moment her veneer dropped, the elf tossed her weapon in the air, catching it expertly by the blade and presenting it handle-first back to her. Kalya spat a curse and snatched it from him, glancing wildly around the room.

The elf sat back and stretched his nimble hands behind his head. His smugness was palpable as Kalya fingered the blade in her lap. She might actually just kill him for being irritating.

Realization suddenly crossed his features, and he sat forward, excited.

"You must mean the Guard-Captain Michel. He  _deserves_  a slit throat for driving so many beautiful women here away." He clucked his tongue in mock warning. "You'd  _think_  the Arl's guards would tread lightly after what happened to their poster boy…"

The tan elf's eyes twinkled as his gaze bore into her. Was it her imagination, or was he carefully studying her reaction? Giving him no such satisfaction, Kalya reached for the tumbler before her.

"The name's Zevran," he continued. "'Zev' to my friends. And I sincerely apologize for frightening you."

She tossed back the amber liquid, its contents burning down the length of her throat. For the first time, Zevran's cool façade looked shaken. He threw a hand out to stop her, but it was too late.

"That's Antivan Whiskey," he choked. "It's meant to be sipped!"

Kalya shrugged as the warm elixir worked its way through her bloodstream, fuzzing the too-harsh edges of the world around her. The pain in her head slowly ebbed away.

"Fereldans." He grasped his own cup, shaking his head in defeat. "This has only been aging since the Fourth  _feca_  Blight."

Zevran tossed back his own drink and slammed the glass on the table, exhaling deeply.

"Will you share your name with me, now that I've shamed my countrymen?"

"How did you know I was a girl?" Kalya asked.

"So I'll just tell them 'the most beautiful elf in all Thedas' then."

She blinked slowly at him, like an irritated cat. The elf sighed again, nodding towards her.

"The costume is convincing. I will give you that. You've certainly fooled these other brutes into thinking you're an exquisitely beautiful young man."

In an instant, his fingers clasped around hers, still clutching the tumbler.

"It was your hands. Not that I mind a man with small hands, of course. But yours are so exceptionally tiny –"

"Big enough for you, elf!" she spat, snatching them from his grasp.

Zevran burst into laughter, without malice, without offense. "We can test that theory if you like."

Joy seemed to overtake him so genuinely. She didn't trust it for a moment.


	21. Vendetta

The Antivan Whiskey left a harsh sting on the back of Kalya's tongue that she itched to mask with the half-full mug of Dwarven ale, but she didn't want to dull her senses too much. Soothing numbness was already coiling through her body, leaving her sharp enough for savagery, blunt enough to welcome danger.

Zevran twirled the empty tumblers around his dexterous fingers, looking very much like he wanted to say more, when the tavern's entrance bell tinkled lightly and three large humans stepped inside.

Kalya's heart jolted as if electrified. Guard-Captain Michel and his cronies sauntered past them to the bar. Her focus a pinpoint of precision on the men, Kalya stood up the moment their backs were to her. A bracing arm slammed her down in the booth seat. Hard. Eyes blazing, she glared up at Zevran, but concern clouding his face gave her pause. He clucked his tongue.

"I would advise against a tavern brawl,  _mia cara_. Not everyone here is drunk as they seem."

He nodded towards his dark-haired companion with the scar over his eye, hunched heavily over the bar with the pretty elf on one side of him, dexterously flipping a coin across his fingers on the hand she couldn't see.

The three soldiers bellied up to the bar and ordered a round. They were served almost instantly, the barkeep averting his eyes for the whole transaction.

Kalya fought to keep her breathing even. Zevran had a point, but she'd only intended to slit Michel's throat, his companions be damned. If that erupted into more, she could to escape to the rooftops, and anyone else who joined the melee did so at their own risk. Diverting from the plan chafed her insides.

"I'm not gonna sit here while he beats the shit out of a woman 50 meters away."

Zevran's lips pressed into a hard line.

"Think of it as the last woman he will ever beat. Her wounds will heal. If you incite a riot in here, yours may not."

Kalya drained the contents of her mug. The soldiers had already finished theirs and were ordering another. By the way the shortest of them was swaying, this wasn't the first tavern they'd visited. When their second serving had been chugged, the men slapped Michel on the back and all but shoved him towards the hallway. He nearly lost his balance, but they propped him up, and the three of them stumbled off together, hooting with pride.

It was all Kalya could do to stay still. Spinning her twin daggers underneath the table calmed her slightly, if only for the concentration required to keep from dropping them. As her mind got heavier with each passing minute, guilt and nerves eventually got the better of her focus. A dagger thunked into the wooden floorboards. Zevran jerked his legs away, eyes wide.

"Some of us have precious cargo under here!"

Kalya wrenched the blade from the ground and slid out of the booth.

"Thanks for the whiskey," she said over her shoulder. "I'll pay you back if I live."

:::

The creaking wooden staircase gave way to five closed doors. According to the jumpy bartender, the pretty elf girl with the bruises received her customers in the room at the end of the hallway. Kalya slipped two thin metal shards out of her leathers and went to work silently picking the lock. When the last pin fell into place with a satisfying plink, she pushed the door just enough that a thin sliver of light spilled out into the dark hall.

At first glance, it looked like the wrong room. No bed in sight, two dusty overstuffed chairs and a small serving table topped with a modest decanter occupied the center of the room. One chair held an odd contraption that, upon squinting, she realized was a modified crossbow. She nearly jumped out of her skin when the shorter soldier crossed her vision to pour himself a drink.

Leaning further to her right, she saw the second soldier peering down a thin hallway that must have led to the main event in the back bedroom. Half-hearted cooing and the moans of a man oblivious to feigned pleasure undulated in the air. The second soldier was pawing at his crotch, clearly hoping for a turn next. A wave of nausea crashed heavily on Kalya's stomach.

The closer soldier would be easy. The other would have an extra moment to draw his sword, but throwing the first towards him would buy her time to strike. Michel, if he noticed the commotion at all, would be distracted long enough for her to retain the upper hand. Plus, she doubted he fucked in his armor.

Fearing she'd lose her nerve if she thought too much more about it, Kalya blasted into the room silently and lightning fast. A glass shattered to the ground as she pounced on the shorter soldier from behind, running a blade across his neck, supple as a ripe peach.

He dropped faster than she expected, sending her stumbling back a few steps, when an explosive blow caught her left cheek. She slammed helplessly into the wall. For three blinking seconds, she saw only stars.

Disorientation froze her in place. Her grip relaxed and one knife clanked to the ground as she rubbed sight back into her eyes. A pair of heavy hands clasped her shoulders the moment her vision returned and swung her backwards into the opposite wall. The soldier bull-rushed her, but caught the tip of his boot on the crumpled body beneath him. As he fell, Kalya dropped into a crouch, caught his abdomen with her remaining blade and jerked upwards with all her might.

His momentum continued until he had her pinned to the ground. The hilt of her dagger dug bluntly into her chest as his sticky warmth coated her leathers. Centimeters from her face, the light left his furious eyes.

Crunching pain suddenly shattered through her fist. Kalya cried out in agony, lifting her eyes to see a burly man in heavy leathers standing over her. Did the Pearl have an extra guard stationed in each room? He raised his foot from the shattered bones in her left hand and grasped the dead soldier's collar, throwing him aside as easily as a child. An instant later, Kalya was jerked into the air by the neck and hammered into the wall, going limp as a rag doll when base of her skull ricocheted off the wood.

Her head lolled forward drunkenly, but she was distantly aware of the shink of a sword being removed from its scabbard. Kalya blinked, fighting for consciousness. The doubled image swam before her of the brute raising a broadsword, a merciless sneer splitting his face.

Then, a tight buzzing whirred towards her. The man's head jerked forward, his grip on her neck suddenly relaxing. She dropped to the ground with him, unable to process what happened. With much effort, she squinted towards the doorway. Zevran lowered the crossbow, now missing from the overstuffed chair.

"I dare say you now owe me  _two_  drinks,  _mia cara_."

Finally roused by the commotion, Michel stumbled out of the back bedroom, nude and furious. Kalya made to push herself out of his way, erupting a firestorm of pain on her shattered hand. A pair of tight thunks split the air, pinning the man to the hallway wall by his biceps. Zevran advanced, crossbow trained between Michel's fearful eyes. Violence now in her line of sight, the elf woman in the bedroom screamed and began sobbing in fear.

Michel struggled against the bolts, but they held fast. Thick rivulets of blood gushed from each wound.

"Kill me if you're going to, knife-ear," Michel snarled. "My superiors will have this brothel locked down in a quarter hour."

"Oh, I highly doubt that, since  _my_  superiors run the place," Zevran said. "Besides, I rather thought I'd let my colleague here deal the killing blow, if she's able."

Kalya grasped the fallen knife. The elf looped a hand around her elbow to lift her to her feet. As quiet whimpers emanated from the bedroom, Kalya shuffled forward and hammered the knife downward at an angle into the naked man's chest, a couple centimeters below his heart.

"Er, you missed—" Zevran started, but he quieted when she slammed her fist savagely downward on the dagger's handle, driving its point up to its target. "Oh, my mistake."

The wound was lethal, but the blood trickled out slower than on his arms. Kalya stared, unmoving, into the man's shocked eyes for several moments. His mouth gaped, but no sound came out. When she removed the blade, warmth spurt out in the rhythm of his heartbeat. She gnashed her teeth, reared her arm back, and pinned his sagging manhood to the wall.

Zevran shuddered audibly behind her. Satisfied with her work, she spun on her heel and headed into the bedroom to ensure the elven woman was all right.

She was hunched over, rocking slowly back and forth. Dressing gown still hitched up around her waist, she cradled her head in her hands.

"It's, uh, it's okay now," Kalya said. "He's not going to hurt you anymore."

The woman looked up, her breathing staccato with hiccups. "He was – He-he was… I'm gonna lose my job! They're gonna…" Eyes wild and hysterical, she lunged towards Kalya. "Do you know what they do to girls whose clients get hurt?!"

Kalya's stomach flipped. She stumbled back a few steps, stunned.

Zevran appeared at her side, looking tentative.

"My, er, associates will be along shortly, if you'd like me to take your friend out the back entrance."

Kalya nodded, feeling very much like dulling her horrified regret to a quiet stupor. Zevran seemed to read her mind.

"I  _should_  only be a quarter hour, if you'd like to make good on those drinks you owe me."

:::

The booth near the front of The Pearl was empty, as usual. As adrenaline began to wear off, the insistent throbbing in her left hand took a turn into blind searing pain that was almost too much to bear. The bartender brought her a mug of Dwarven Ale the moment she'd sat down, eyes lingering on her leathers just a beat too long.

She had shrugged out of her hood, which was soaked through with the blood of the four men. A common sight in Denerim, but enough to give the cautious ones pause.

The barkeep returned palming a small vial. After a moment of stunned silence, she reached into her pouch for payment, but the man held up a hand.

"On the house," he said, glancing left and right. Kalya nodded and downed the lesser potion as he turned heel back to the bar. The elixir wasn't enough to fully set the disrupted bones, but it certainly took the edge off until she could properly care for them.

Kalya stared towards the hall. Impulsive was a quality she had quite embraced, but foolish and careless were new. Should she really have stopped to consider that the elf was willing to put up with such treatment… for what, coin? A steady job? Until the day Michel drank too much and his blows got too enthusiastic. Right?

As much as she had herself convinced she'd done the right thing, she couldn't stop her good hand from shaking. She'd almost lost the fight. She'd been sloppy. Drinking and fighting worked fine when pickpocketing drunks, but trained soldiers had finesse and strength in any mental state. If Zevran hadn't been there, she'd have easily been run through with a broadsword.

But she had known the odds were against her, hadn't she? The thrill of the fight still spurned her on, kept her drinking. And for the first time in recent memory, she didn't have a death wish. So, what, was she an adrenaline junkie now, or just stupid?

_Maybe self-indulgent_ , she thought, bringing the mug to her lips. The cool liquid played upon her tongue, wrapping it like an embrace.

One thing she knew for sure: the violent tremors only stilled with the realization that killing the soldiers had felt so fucking good.

Two slim men in dark armor emerged from the hallway and headed towards the exit behind her. Tiny speckles of blood dotted their faces, too fine for fallout from a normal brawl. Kalya recognized the pattern from watching Riordan slaughter pigs in his barn. It was backspray from something being hacked to pieces.

They'd probably passed her on other evenings, and she hadn't even noticed them. Looking around the dark room, smoke thick in the air, shady individuals biding their time until they were called or seduced, she realized this type of violence probably ran the place. A shudder reverberated down the length of her spine. It wasn't entirely unpleasant.

Still wired from the attack, Kalya slowly rubbed her eyes with her gloved good hand. The hypnotic swirling centered her.

"I swear to the Maker," the Antivan sighed, startling her enough to knock over her beverage, "if I see one more Fereldan drinking this Dwarven swill, I'm going to seal the gates of Orzammar."


	22. Easily Sidetracked

Zevran flashed a winning smile, looking very much unlike he'd just assisted his mysterious associates in hacking four bodies into disposable pieces.

The bartender appeared a moment later to mop up the spilled beverage with a wet rag just as the elf slid soundlessly into the seat across from her.

"My colleague and I will have two glasses of your finest Antivan Whiskey,  _per cortesia_." The man nodded and took his leave with the overturned mug, returning moments later with two nearly overflowing tumblers. Kalya's eyes widened, and the elf winked in thanks, a gesture altogether too intimate. The barkeep blushed and ducked back to his duties with Zevran watching his every step.

"Now if my colleague would be so kind as to give me her  _name_ , I promise not to dwell on how I saved her life."

"I thought this round was going to be on me," Kalya said. Her left hand throbbed painfully in her lap, but she had to admit the elf's presence was a welcome distraction.

'There is plenty of time for anything you desire to be  _on_  you,  _mia cara_."

Kalya rolled her eyes. Not  _that_ welcome. She reached for the glass, taking care not to let her unsteady grip disturb its contents.

"How's the hand?" the elf asked, nodding towards her lap.

"Don't worry about it."

"My apologies. I usually travel with more provisions, but I was expecting an evening of more pleasure than business."

With a nod, Kalya lifted her drink to him, a potion just as effective, for the short term at least.

"To gorgeous strangers," he said.

"Kalya."

"Kalya," he purred. "I would have expected nothing less exquisite." Zevran raised his tumbler carefully. "Now let me show you the proper way to consume the pride of Antiva."

"Admitting  _you're_  not the pride of Antiva?"

Zevran quirked an eyebrow, looking at once surprised and impressed, and Kalya flushed bright crimson. She had meant to take him down a peg, but it had come off as flirtatious. No more talking.

Zevran reached across the table to clink his glass against hers.

" _Vita bella, mi bella_ ," he said. His soft smile melted into the curling tattoo that ran the length of his face. "Take a small pull into your mouth and run the liquid over with your tongue."

After studying him a moment, she did as Zevran bade. The spicy liquor burned her tongue, but it was not unpleasant.

"Part your lips ever so slightly," he continued, voice dropping to a lower register. "Now, inhale deeply, all the way to your diaphragm. Let the whiskey slide down the back of your throat like silk."

Peppery and heavy, the spirit warmed her whole body as she took it in. Tension dissipated through her shoulders, and she rolled her neck from side to side, able to crack it at last. The sting the whiskey left on her palate was like nothing she'd ever tasted. Shooting the liquid earlier  _had_  done its rich, subtle tones no justice, but the elf's instructions were recited like a reverent litany.

"Well? What do you think?" he asked.

"I think you have a drinking problem."

Zevran threw his head back with a hearty laugh that shook his whole body. He wiped away a tear when he calmed, returning her gaze with half-closed eyelids she assumed melted every other girl he met.

"What can I say? I  _do_  approach all endeavors in life with the deepest passion."

"Even killing a man?" Kalya asked with a sneer.

"Especially killing a man."

The twinkle of ferocity in Zevran's eyes sent a jolt down Kalya's spine. Up until now, she had never understood the attraction some had to dangerous men. But there was something about this elf's hunger that seemed so distantly familiar. Alluring and deadly all at once.

Then, quickly as the comfort had set in, it wicked away. Memories of her near-miss and the girl whose life she ruined flooded back. Kalya lowered her gaze.

"They're… No one's really going to hunt that elf down, right?"

Zevran pressed the corners of his lips, clearly yearning for more lighthearted conversation.

"No  _harm_  will come to her, no, but word does get out. I'm sure she was… famous in certain circles, a segment of which has just mysteriously gone missing. I strongly recommended a change of career. A few sovereigns eased the blow."

The words did nothing to soothe her. Shame flared within her like lit coal.

The elf quirked an eyebrow. "This can't have been your first kill."

"First kill I regretted."

"Kalya," he curled a finger under her chin to lift her eyes to his, "you were right to kill that bastard. You know this, I hope. The women of Denerim owe you their gratitude."

She rolled her eyes, moving her face just out of his grasp. The unwarranted praise stifled the air around her, and she squirmed like a restless child.

"I've never been that sloppy. That's what I get for rushing into a fight three– four drinks in. If you hadn't been there…"

Zevran studied her a moment. For a man who loved talking, he seemed to be carefully measuring each word. Kalya wasn't sure she wanted to know what he was keeping to himself.

"You know, there's a fighting style called the Drunken Orlesian. Or, as they call it in Orlais, Tuesday evening." He chuckled at his own joke. "I can… teach it to you, if you like."

Now it was Kalya's turn to throw her head back and laugh.

"I think I'm good. Next time, I'll just get my mark drunker than me so I can stab him in the alley, easy."

"Speaking as a potential mark, I can attest to your allure. This plan is flawless."

"Potential mark, eh? Are you a rapist?"

He laid a hand on his chest dramatically. "Maker, you wound me! I assumed you simply hunted men for sport. I can assure you, my lovers practically scream their consent. My  _favorites_  moan it."

Cheeks suddenly very hot, Kalya took a large sip from her glass, forcing herself to swallow it a small gulp at a time. Smoky warmth coated her tongue. Zevran matched her drink for drink.

"The Drunken Orlesian," she said, lowering the tumbler. "Is that just fighting pompous and cocky?"

"Quite the opposite,  _mia cara_. Have you never met a drunk Orlesian?"

Zevran pretended not to notice when she averted her eyes.

"It's more like… trusting your body to be supple and dexterous, while your enemies remain rigid. Tiring an attacker by bobbing and swaying just out of reach. It's quite perfect for a frame like yours."

Raising two fingers towards the barkeep, Zevran tipped his near-empty glass in silent cheers to Kalya and drained its contents. When the man approached with fresh refills, Kalya followed suit.

Her limbs tingled with clumsy thickness. Guilt and worry ebbed away. To keep conversation light, Zevran regaled her with tales from Antiva and vague anecdotes about his travels around Ferelden.

As he talked, Kalya was surprised to find herself focusing on the delicate curves of his ear, wondering if the skin on his face was as soft as it seemed. She nodded along at all the right parts of a particularly spirited story, but in her mind, she was tracing a fingertip along the intricate tattoo on his cheekbone.

The bar grew quieter as patrons retired home or to the expensive back rooms that included a night's cuddling, but their booth was as lively as ever. She let herself laugh at his ridiculous jokes – a breathless snicker that shook her shoulders. Deep inside, she knew the syrupy elixir was to blame, that she should know better and keep her guard up. But she was so tired of fighting to keep people away. Tired of being alone. For this one night, she would not feel guilty for indulging in something other than self-loathing.

Zevran began punctuating his stories with light brushes against her arm, testing the limits of what his companion would allow. In a tale about a daring escape from Rivaini pirates, he got bold enough to place a full open palm along her thigh. Her glossy eyes cast a mock glare back at him, and she swatted him away lazily.

Kalya made a good run at keeping pace, but it was clear the Antivan could hold his liquor. Her trips to the bathroom became more and more frequent, using every chair along the path to keep herself steady.

Upon one return, Zevran skillfully tucked a foot around her ankle, catching her wrist and swirling her ass-first into his lap. Unable to turn instinct off, she drove an elbow back a little too hard into his sternum, eliciting a cough as she slid into her correct seat. Once she regained balance, she leaned forward to glare across the table, a smirk betraying her annoyance. Zevran leaned in to glare back, just centimeters from allowing their noses to touch.

When she didn't pull back, Zevran tried a subtler approach. He reached up to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear, deliberately running a finger along its sensitive length. She bucked her chin closer to his, heart thrumming so wildly in her chest, she could swear its swells were affecting her vision.

Finally, the daring elf broke the unspoken barrier, crushing his mouth hungrily against hers. The shock caught her breath for an instant before she melted into him. Zevran's lips were the perfect mixture of softness and wetness, and he parted hers expertly, running a pert tongue along the slit of her mouth.

Ignoring their surroundings, she all but launched herself halfway across the table, carding fingers through his silky blonde hair and letting them dance down the length of his neck.

Zevran grasped her sides over the oaky tabletop. Foggy as her mind was, Kalya was still acutely impressed by the elf's roguish skill. Anyone looking on would have assumed he was clutching her desperately, missing his thumb flicking playfully inward to jostle her bosom.

Kalya smiled against his kiss, tasting spicy sweetness flavored by the drink. The passionate abandon gave a different kind of thrill. Every now and again, he drew back, hovering just a breath away to see how far she would allow the tease before she crashed back into his lips.

The room around her felt heavy, a tight hug inside a thick blanket. At some point, with her nodding permission, Zevran joined her side of the booth, pinning her gently against the wall as he traced his tongue along her jawline. Breathing in the man was nearly as intoxicating as the liquor. He smelled of leather and musky Antivan spices.

She felt safe in his embrace, though she couldn't completely still her mind's swimming. Chatter from the bar's remaining patrons and Zevran's undulating motions took her away from herself, away from anything that would distract her from this moment of indulgence.

It wasn't long before the teasing became too much to bear. Her good hand snaked urgently down Zevran's slim torso and plunged into his lap, fumbling for the strings to his britches. Only then did the elf lean away and gently place her hand back at his side with a wink.

"Perhaps it is time we… retired from this place," he said.

"I'm not sleepy," she said, a distinct slur to her words.

"Well, then you will be pleased to discover what I have in store for you."


	23. New Ground

Zevran slipped out of the booth and extended a hand to help Kalya to her feet, which was more difficult than anticipated. She swung wildly to one side and caught herself on the table, knocking over several empty glasses. By way of rectifying the mess, she reached for a half-empty tumbler and drained its contents with a shrug. Zev didn't even try to stifle a laugh.

With a hand tucked gently into the small of her back and the other sturdy around her good arm, Zevran steadied her as they spilled out onto the street. Kalya began shuffling confidently down the back-alley path to her hovel across from the Spotted Pig.

"So, uh, your place, I take it?"

She spun around a little too fast, and Zev caught her shoulder with a firm palm before she could lose her balance.

"I – no. We can go whatever you want. I just…"

Zevran chuckled lightly and gave a small bow. "I shall follow wherever you lead, so long as you promise you're not an assassin leading me to my death."

"Why's everyone  _ask_  me that?"

"Oh, I don't know. Your warm personality? Winning smile? The assassination you pulled off a few hours ago?"

"That was  _justice_."

"Ah, Justice is a fickle muse, is he not?"

Kalya scrunched her face up and resumed teetering down the cobblestone backroad. Zevran nearly tripped over himself to keep her upright.

With some difficulty, they approached the second-story apartment where Kalya had been squatting since her "death." She sheepishly procured – and then dropped – a slim lockpick from her leathers, and began several unsuccessful attempts at entry before Zevran tapped her shoulder. He held out a warm palm with a smile so genuine, she forgot to feel humiliated. His expert hands made quick work of the lock.

"Aren't you gonna ask why I have to break into my own house?" she asked, once they'd stumbled into the room.

Zevran shook his head as the door closed behind him, shrouding them in darkness.

The apartment had actually been an extraordinary find. In the months since her return to Denerim, she'd enjoyed it for more than its shelter. It was her first stab at living alone, and the shady access and slovenly insides suited her.

A thin bed slouched in the corner, little more than a mattress on the floor, boasting the previous day's crumpled clothing still atop it. Papers and notices from the room's last tenant scattered from a sitting area to the meager kitchen. Dotting the perimeter of the tiny room were half-burnt candlesticks, and although the darkness would shield the embarrassment of a stranger witnessing her clutter, Kalya lunged towards them to set them alight. The thought of shadows dancing across Zevran's chiseled features set her heart beating erratically.

As she bobbed from candle to candle, one wick stubbornly refused to light. Or refused to sway in tandem with her unsteady grip. The matchstick burned her finger, and she sucked air through her teeth, shaking the sting out of her hand.

"You damn Antivans make your whiskey way too strong," she mumbled, shooting Zevran a glare. He returned a throaty chuckle.

"Yes, well, when you down half a bottle, you'll have that. But hopefully it has eased the unpleasantness of the night. How is your hand? The… crushed one, not the burned one."

She flexed it, testing it for tenderness, and was relieved to feel nothing. For the moment. She cocked her head towards the elf with a smile. "Can't feel a thing."

Zevran's full lips glistened even in the dim candlelight, sending a shiver of thrill through Kalya's spine. It had certainly been a while. She was more than ready to pick up where they'd left off in the tavern.

Stable as the elf's façade was, the drink seemed to be catching up to him, too. A smirk refused to leave his face, as if he might crack into hysterics at any moment, and it took several tries to cross his arms from his leaning stance in the doorway.

"I'm afraid I am torn," Zevran said, his rolled R's exaggerated, "between being a gentleman and, shall we say, wishing to perform my gentlemanly duties upon you."

Kalya pressed her mouth into a tight line. "You do know that was  _me_  shoving my hand down your britches, right?"

Zev clucked his tongue, but the grin never receded. "You were intoxicated. Even less so than now. I'm rather proud of my unbesmirched reputation of being no one's regret."

"You're gonna make me say it," she said, slowly closing the space between them. Zevran nodded. "I, Kalya Tabris, of mostly sound mind, do agree to the coming events, and have been with plenty of elves worse-looking than you with no regrets."

"Be still my heart." He laid a hand on his breast. "Such poetry. Are you a bard, as well?"

Kalya raised a finger to his lips. He was a chatty one. Zev surprised her by rumbling a chuckle so low and mischievous, her insides turned to butter. With a snap, he leaned his head forward to slide her finger into his mouth, suckling it gently. The move was so unexpected and erotic, she reflexively wet her lips with a gulp. Her knees threatened to give out just as Zevran scooped her under his arm and backed her towards the bed.

Before they descended, he skillfully unlaced her leathers and lifted them over her head. Zevran's honey-tinted eyes drank in the sight of her as he unraveled the breast band that encircled her torso. Wide-eyed gratitude replaced his smirk, like she'd just given him an unexpected gift.

He slid a warm, calloused hand behind her bottom to shuck off her smalls and britches. Such a simple act, being undressed by another, but Zevran moved with measured restraint, as if it were a reverent honor to be about to please her. A ceremony to be drawn out and savored.

Zevran licked his lips as he lowered Kalya onto the bed and surrounded her on all fours. Lifting his shirt over the back of his head, Kalya discovered another dark tattoo curling down the length of his taut side. The elves she'd been with before were lithe and lean, but never had she seen one so chiseled at the same time. She traced a finger along the dips and bulges of his muscles, up his torso then down his arms.

Zevran's exalted smile betrayed none of the cockiness that seemed to come so easily outside of the bedroom. In the dim firelight, he simply looked honored.

Unable to restrain himself any longer, he cupped her breast and began sucking it deeply. Kalya gasped in surprise. As he circled his expert tongue, warm waves of pleasure began to roll over her. Zevran grasped the other pert nipple between his fingers, making sure neither was neglected.

The arousal and delicious ache jolted through her, arching her back with want. Zevran purred and the rotations intensified. With grasping urgency, she slithered her hand between his legs, stroking hard over the bulge in his leathers. He gently diverted her.

"Ah-ah,  _mi amore_ , this night is all about pleasuring  _you_."

Zev leaned to meet Kalya's mouth, still kneading and pinching her breasts with each hand. He tasted of honey liquor and smoke, and for once, Kalya wasn't shy about savoring her lover completely, running her tongue languidly along the inside of his mouth. She took his lower lip between her teeth and pulled back. He closed his eyes until she was just far enough away to blossom a burst of pain, and he growled with pleasure.

Zevran consumed her figure with ravenous eyes. A hint of self-consciousness played at the back of her mind, exposed as she was beneath a near-stranger, but the adoration on his face erased any modesty. Pleasant shivers ran over her soft stomach and down her spine.

In a fluid motion, Zevran slid off end of the bed and pulled her hips to the edge. The tips of his fingers danced along her inner thighs, tantalizingly close to her center, but never actually making the contact she ached for. Gooseflesh pricked up along her skin, and Zevran raked softly along her sides to quiet it.

"When was the last time you let a man worship you, mm?" he purred. Kalya's face burned red, and he clucked his tongue. "A woman of your fierce beauty should be revered as an idol of allure. Allow me to kneel before you and honor you thoroughly."

Grasping a thigh in each hand, Zevran lowered his head to Kalya's lap. Strands of blonde hair fell forward, tickling her sensitive loins. With an urgent moan, he ground himself against her, wrapping lips around her bundle of nerves and sucking desperately. He dug his chin into her folds as he nursed, stimulating as much of her core as his face would allow. Kalya's eyes squeezed shut tight. She barely dared to breathe.

Zevran kneaded his way to her center. When at last he unattached his mouth from her, he lapped up the length of her slit, working his tongue expertly within her folds, as if cleaning custard from every corner of a stubborn tin. Kalya quivered out a moan that bolstered Zevran's ministrations. He slid a slim finger within her. Curling upwards, as if beckoning her orgasm to him, Zevran's finger and tongue worked in feverish tandem. Vibrations of pleasure radiated outwards from Kayla's core to the tips of each limb. But it wasn't enough. She ached for more thickness to fill her, and when Zev dipped his head demurely back to nibble on her sensitive inner thigh, she couldn't help grasping him by the ears and directing his mouth back to her opening. With a low grumble of pleasure, he ground himself into her like a man starved.

Kalya rolled the tips of his ears between her thumb and forefinger, which was so hypnotizing, Zevran would pause every few moments in a trance before groaning throatily and resuming his flicking tease. Just when Kalya thought she could bear no more, a second slim finger joined the first inside her. Longer and thicker, they were able to caress reaches she had been unable to simulate herself in the cold months alone. Her gasps and squirms only set Zevran plunging deeper.

Hazy from the drink and mesmerizing arousal, it wasn't until the third or fourth time it happened that Kalya picked up on Zevran's expert torment. The slow rise of stimulation was a choreographed dance, each movement designed to keep her yearning for more without pushing her over the edge. With each pulse, he seemed to be coaxing the release out of her, but every time she approached the tip of ecstasy, his nudgings would slow. He knew how to draw out her ravishment, just as a maestro vamps achingly before a crescendo.

As Zevran dipped and plunged inside her, his trimmed nails on the hand grasping her thigh left tiny half moons in their wake, the only hint besides tiny shivers of his calculated restraint.

To distract her from the fact that he wouldn't let her come, Zevran switched positions to give her an array of pleasure. He drew his hand out of her and lifted her legs to a wide V as he caressed her clitoris with his nose, again laving up the length of her slit like a hungry kitten. She bucked against him and clapped a hand over her mouth when she nearly screamed with pleasure, and again, his rumbling laughter reverberated her core.

His fingers delved back in, widening her gently to massage her inner walls. As he suckled, a thumb flicked up and helped circle her swelling arousal at an achingly beautiful pace. As before, the fire within Kalya threatened to overwhelm her. Ragged breathing shuddered her torso, spurring Zevran's pace to frantic purls. His muffled moan sent her keening towards the edge, and she clutched handfuls of the bed sheets beneath her.

The pressure built higher, higher, until the last possible moment at the precipice of ecstasy when he drew his head back with a flourish, panting desperately. She willed herself to spill over, to let herself be taken completely by the sweet release, but it was no use. Looking up at her with an impish grin, the elf nipped at her inner thigh playfully.

"I… I need…" Kalya ground herself against the length of his fingers.

"What do you need,  _mi amore_?" he asked, still breathless from his dive. "Anything you desire."

"I need… I need you to fuck me."


	24. Easy Lover

Without a word, Zevran rose to his feet, his smirk replaced with intense determination. He shimmied out of his leather britches with a suggestive sway of his hips, and his erection bounced in the candlelight, free of its constraints. Impossibly thick and long, its hypnotic twitching set butterflies aflutter in Kalya's stomach. She longed to take it in her hand, feel it throb with want inside her tight grip. Before she could pounce on him, Zevran leaned forward against her, slithering over her on all fours. Velvety hardness slid up the length of her leg and hovered right before her entrance.

Kalya pleaded silently for him to push through, to fill her completely, but for the first time that evening, the elf looked hesitant. He averted his eyes with measured restraint and a gulp.

"Would you like to… guide me into you?"

For a beat, Kalya didn't understand, breathing shakily beneath him, but when she reached between her legs to take him in her hands, she felt his hesitance. Longer than her two small hands could contain, the primal longing it roused within her sent blood pulsing southward, leaving light-headed warmth to flood over her in its wake. She nodded, more than ready.

Clutching his backside with one hand, Kalya pulled his hips towards her, guiding his stiffness in with the other. His attention earlier had widened her, but she wasn't prepared for its length. Zevran quivered around her, pushing forward only at her command, inch after impossible inch. When he finally rubbed against the deepest indentation on her cervix, he exhaled a shuddering breath.

" _Stai bene_?" he asked, then shook his head to remember Fereldan. "A-Are you okay?"

"More," Kalya breathed.

He pulled back gently before crashing against her. She squeezed around him with a low groan. Guiding him away by his sharp hipbones and then back, grasping his buttocks with fevered fingertips, she set the achingly beautiful pace. The slicker she became, the more frantic he allowed his pounding rhythm. A squeal of pleasure escaped Kalya, and she clapped a hand over her mouth. Zevran lifted it gently, pinning it by the wrist above her head.

"Would you deprive me of your exquisite moans? How else will I know what pleases you?"

Kalya shook her head with a whimper. Her back arched and she struggled lightly against his hold. Then harder. Her hand barely budged. Eyes suddenly wide, Zevran released his grip in an instant, slowing his movements.

"No, no, it's…" Kalya chewed the corner of her lip. "I'll tell you if… You can… do that."

With a nod, Zevran gathered both of her wrists in one hand above her head and pinned them down. He searched her eyes with an eyebrow raised and a playful smile. Kalya giggled despite herself and nodded. His free hand caressed the side of her face, and she curled against his touch.

Modulating his motion, Zevran's pushes slowly became more and more shallow, igniting an itch of desire deep within her. When the tease became too much for him, he finally ground his hips against hers, burying himself so impossibly deep, they both groaned in ecstasy.

Zev raked a hand through her short chestnut hair, collecting it in his fist and tugging gently. Kalya gasped and bucked her hips, arms still restrained in his strong grip over her head.

"Oh, you're a fun one," Zevran said, panting. "I  _like_  you."

The tantalizing cycle continued. Her lover circled his hips, deftly working his way deeper, hitting her at angles she didn't know had sensitivities. He'd bury himself to the hilt and then unsheathe, satisfying and tormenting all at once. Lost in ecstasy, she felt her depths staggering towards the edge over and over, then Zevran would suddenly change his pattern, leaving her quivering with want.

As he crushed against her, their weight curled into the mattress, sweet and enveloping, but almost maddeningly supple. Kalya yearned to feel Zevran's perfect amorous discipline shatter completely within her. He tugged again at her hair, never seeming to tire of falling upon her gasp with a deep, sensual kiss.

She moaned a request against him, and he pulled back, searching her gaze with blazing intensity.

"What is it, my Kalya?"

"Deeper," she breathed. "I want to take all of you."

Elation electrified across his eyes, but he fought to remain calm.

"You're sure I am… not hurting you?"

Kalya whimpered and nodded, biting her lip to still a sensual groan.

In an instant, Zevran slid out of her and climbed off the bottom of the bed. Kalya scrambled to follow, achingly empty. He extended a hand with a regal bow, like a nobleman asking for a dance. When she slipped her palm in his, he whisked her off the bed, spun her around, and pinned her against the wall with a mischievous grin. In the candlelight, golden hair framed his face as majestically as any highborn.

One hand snaked behind her head, pulling his smiling lips into hers as the other hand cupped her bottom. He lifted her until she was the perfect height, his arousal throbbing upward against her entrance. Kalya ground desperately against his grip, and he curled underneath her thigh and hoisted her up.

One slender leg, then another wrapped tightly around his torso. Thrust against a wooden wall for the second time tonight, a surge of exhilaration pulsed through her trembling veins. Taking such pleasure pinned in the same position as her earlier danger felt so delightfully wrong. The elf made her feel safe within these walls and… not alone in her naughty perversions. Kalya took Zevran's face between her hands while he widened his stance and slid luxuriously into her. With the wall providing resistance at her back, Zevran drove hard and deep within her. His first plunge licked the depths of her core, and her eyes rolled back with a throaty groan.

They crashed together with such perfect ease, Kalya was grateful he didn't have more girth. With each pump, she felt deliciously full and a bit dizzy, panting out their rhythm until she was short of breath. The elf's hands anchored her shoulders against the wall, steering her around his length and tapping savagely against the sweet spots of ecstasy within her.

The rhythm was hypnotic. Kalya's mind swam with lush serenity as the interior of her bedroom slipped away. She rode the undulating motions until rapture consumed her. Distantly, she willed her body to spill over the edge Zevran had teasingly denied over and over, but she had to admit each subsequent climb felt more urgent and exquisite. But, seriously, he better not deny her again.

She panted his name with every thrust, intermingled with pleas to the Maker. When he tested a firm slap on her bottom, her litany turned to keening whimpers. Determination clouded her lover's face. His jaw set, Kalya thought he might actually let her come, until he quirked an eyebrow with that same maddening restraint.

No, no, no. She wasn't going to let him slow again. A wild notion occurred to her, and she carded fingers up Zevran's nape, through his soft hair, and closed into a fist of her own, yanking his head back a little harder than was polite. The shock of pain caught him off-guard, and he let out an unbridled moan. His thrusts quickened, now urgent and hungry.

Kalya curled into the crook of his neck and widened a kiss to an insistent bite. As she bore down, Zevran nearly went slack beneath her before picking up speed. He panted a string of indecipherable words in Antivan, gasping for control as passion roiled within him.

Kalya shivered with anticipation. Finally succumbing to his frantic buckings, she toppled into silky oblivion.

"Zevran, I'm… I'm… Maker, yes, Zevran!"

With a passionate groan of release and gratitude, Zevran spilled inside her. The sensation of him spurting against her tender walls drew out her climax. She clenched tight to milk him completely, toes curled and eyes squeezed tight. Zevran continued hammering her against the wall, slowly growing soft, but with enough eagerness that ecstasy washed over her like the last licks of the receding tide.

Skin glistening, Zevran finally grasped Kalya under the arms and swung her gently back to the bed. They both collapsed, exhausted. Zevran curled against her, nestling an arm under her head as a pillow.

He lazily traced the contours of her torso with soft fingertips. Kalya's eyelids finally felt heavy, entranced by his hypnotic swirls.

"Rest your beautiful eyes,  _mi amore_. Let the bliss envelop you."

Kalya scrunched into a tight ball against him, nuzzling his arm. On top of her silken borrowed bedsheets, the two fell asleep naked in the waning candlelight.


	25. Harrowed

The chill morning air bit into Kalya's chapped hands. She perched, birdlike, on the rooftop several stories above the Spotted Pig, with a perfect, if not slightly obscured, view of her stolen apartment's front door. Her stomach lurched as she forced a bite into a hardened heel of bread nicked from a cart in the square below. The water she'd downed after lovemaking hadn't done enough to quell the hangover slowly rising from dull discomfort to throbbing torment.

She rubbed bleariness from her eyes. Sick as she felt, it would take more than a headache to quiet the warm afterglow from the events of the evening. A tickle fluttered in her stomach every time a sexy snippet drifted back into memory. It probably should have felt weirder than it did to sit crouched on the shaky tiles of the run-down building across the way, instead of tangled up in a morning-after embrace, but she had to get out of there.

Doubting Zevran was the type to make breakfast and small talk, she'd robbed him of the satisfaction of tip-toeing away in the early hours by slinking out of her own bed to avoid any post-coital awkwardness. In fact, she imagined he'd  _appreciate_  the favor, if their paths ever crossed again, which she doubted greatly. She'd never before seen him at the Pearl; he was likely just passing through Denerim. Mmm, the Pearl. Damn, she was thirsty.

Her heart leapt to her throat when her wooden apartment door opened, and she crouched tighter behind a jutting chimney. The elf casually took stock of his surroundings. When he seemed sure no nosy neighbors looked on, his hand slipped around the door to lock it from the inside before pulling it shut. That was nice of him.

Zevran twisted his neck left and right, lifting his arms over his head in a great stretch before doubling over to pop his back. His perfect butt flexed in the air a beat too long. Kalya rolled her eyes. He could have done that inside if he were so worried about anyone looking on. No matter. Any neighbors who would have a hint of caring were off to their serving duties already.

Kalya chomped on the stale bread as she looked out over the city. The familiar temptation to simply slip back into bed and sleep the day away teased through her impulses, but discipline would win out over pain as it did every day. Thankfully. She'd give the elf a quarter of an hour's leave from her apartment, just in case he realized he'd left something behind.

"Appreciating the view?" The cocky Antivan lilt behind Kalya startled her enough to drop her bread, and it skittered down the shingles and off the roof. A strong grip snapped out to steady her elbow, and she wrenched free, angry both that he'd scared her to death and that he thought she needed his help.

"The view of the city, that is – although if you enjoyed my stretchings, I can show you my favorite positions. They were meant for you, after all."

Kalya hid all expression. "You knew I was watching you," she said, voice as skeptical as her headache would allow.

"Oh, to be sure. I  _had_  hoped you were up here to ensure my safe passage from any jilted suitors I may have needed to fight off. Though… one does wonder what you'd have done at such a distance."

"Hope your ego's as good a shield as it is a crutch?"

Zevran's smile faltered only millimeters, almost unnoticeable, but the spark of good-natured jest disappeared from his eyes. Guilt wrapped her chest.

"I'm sorry. You just… caught me off guard."

Warmth instantly flooded back to his features with a wide grin. My, he was mercurial.

"The offer from last night still stands, you know."

Oh, Maker, what offer? She recalled begging, pleading, supplicating, but all had been granted. Over and over.

Zevran's grin curled into a smirk. "Training,  _mia cara_. The Drunken Orlesian fighting style, among others. How to keep dashingly handsome rogues from scaring you on rooftops, even while hungover. Even while basking in the afterglow…"

Kalya cracked a smile despite herself.

Riordan's training  _had_  gotten her far, but she felt the gaps in life-or-death combat. And the elf had certainly proven his competence in a fight – while armed with a crossbow, at least. Still, was this just an overture to… something? She needed neither a lover nor a friend. Nor a replacement mentor, she thought with a pang of sadness. But it was true that her forms had gotten a bit stale. Her skill and competence had hit a wall that she'd been fine to live with, until last night.

"We'll see."

"That's not a no." Zevran winked, then jumped backwards off the roof, catching himself expertly on the edge before squirreling back down to ground level.

:::

Kalya's morning routine wasn't as painful as it was exhausting. The  _pain_  she was used to. Blood pumping through her limbs, reverberating through her body and flushing her cheeks invigorated her, even under the dull ache of a hangover. Fatigue was new, but surges of adrenaline accompanying memories of her brush with death and the exertions afterwards kept her wide awake.

When she finally felt sufficient penitence in her weary muscles, she shrugged into a thick hood and made her way through the streets of Denerim. Chirping voices trilling through the markets didn't help her throbbing head, but every few hours, a warm reminder of her evening leaked into her smalls, carnal and earthy and erotic all at once.

Pickpocketing was always more difficult in the wintery months. The wise kept their fat purses hidden underneath several layers, but that made for better sport. One female noble sensed Kalya lingering too long after bumping into her in a crowd and whipped around with a sneer, but it was too late. Kalya had ducked into the bustle and zigzagged through hordes of people shopping for Satinalia gifts before disappearing down a dark alley. Once she was sure no one had followed, she brandished her spoils. Nearly 50 silver. Not bad.

Try as she might to keep her self-imposed promise of visiting the Pearl only after sundown, the pull of the soothing elixirs within had her bellying up at the first hint of dusk. She knew at some point, she would need to break down and purchase a potion to properly fix her broken hand. Until then, Dwarven Ale would do the trick. The thought of Antivan Whiskey made her feel a bit green.

The night passed as any other, she noted, as mugs accumulated at the edge of her booth. If patrons noticed her scowls were softened, less intimidating than usual, they blessedly didn't take advantage of her good spirits. The barkeep couldn't hide a knowing smirk when serving her the ales, which she met with rolled eyes and a nicer tip than usual, care of both her mood and the sneering noble in the markets.

The quiet was a relief. She had half expected the Pearl to be crawling with guards from the Arl's estate, or, at the very least, to find the savvier Johns a bit jumpy. But either word hadn't gotten out, or what trouble soldiers got into on their own time was theirs to expend.

Finally, when the pain in Kalya's head and hand had quieted sufficiently and she could no longer pry her eyes open, she nodded to the bartender and stumbled out the front door, headed for home.

The night seemed too still, too quiet. She attributed the weirdness to never having left the tavern this early in the night – just hours after midnight – but something in the air gave her pause. She stood, swaying slightly in the moonlight, ears pricked for any hint of movement, hearing none.

It must have rained after nightfall, because the street was slick with shining wetness. A soft, foreign plink echoed from a dead end ahead to Kalya's right. As she squinted around the corner, she found no ominous shapes hidden in the shadows, no cat making its rounds at night. A dripping roof, perhaps? Now she was just being paranoid.

When she turned to make her way towards her apartment, a heavy forearm crashed into her chest, knocking her backward into the building. A thick sack crashed around her head, and a pair of heavy hands jerked her forward by the shoulders. Stumbling on the slick ground, Kalya threw out her arms reflexively to steady herself rather than fight back, and her attacker clapped them together, binding them quickly together with a length of rope. Her shouts muffled even within the heavy sack. No one would hear.

The heavy hands spun her around and dragged her backwards, kicking and struggling, until a heavy pommel crashed down on her head. In the suffocating blackness, her last conscious sensation was crumpling weightlessly onto the slick cobblestones.

:::

Alistair could sense his surroundings even before his eyes opened. Cold and dank and… echo-y. Cloudy guesses as to where he was ghosted through his mind, but none took hold. A dungeon? A mountain cave? No…

Then came the wash of pain. Clamping his eyes tighter with a moan, every inch of his body pulsed with agony. Individual vertebrae stung under his weight, hard balls that tensed every limb. Fresh trickles of blood warmed over his forehead and arms in rivulets when he attempted to writhe to a more comfortable position that didn't exist.

"Maker, he's actually alive," Elissa's hard voice echoed through the cavernous Deep Roads. She rushed to Alistair's side as his eyes fluttered open. "Morrigan, can you help?"

He flopped his head to the left to take stock of his surroundings. That was generally a poor decision, and he hissed with the sting of pain.

"As I  _said_ , it's him or the dog." The witch didn't even turn around, but Alistair saw her arms circling weakly over a dark mass, crumpled but breathing between some boulders. Flickering blue light emanated from her fingertips, making her skin look paler than usual.

The walls of the cavernous alcove were littered with cobwebs and slicked with something sickly pink that turned his stomach. Something familiar and terrible.

Before memory could come crashing back, clacking footsteps echoed from the corridor, frantic in their approach. Alistair tensed and then groaned in agony as Leliana appeared in the opening, breathless.

"I've found some," she said, holding up a dreary tangle of plant life. "It's not much, but…"

"It'll do," Elissa said. "It's… for him now."

The bard rushed to the slab where Alistair lay broken and procured a small ceramic mortar and pestle from her leather pouch. With a flourish, she crushed the dripping elfroot into a weak paste.

Alistair gulped and croaked, "Where…?" before a hitch in his lungs stole the breath from his speech, and he writhed in the crushing pain. Leliana nearly jumped out of her skin, eyes wide and wild. Apparently, she hadn't noticed he'd awoken.

"Don't try to move," said Elissa, fumbling in her own pouch for a distillation agent. "Now that you're up, we can… Just don't try to move."

The poultice was ready minutes later. Elissa dipped two fingers into the mortar and rubbed the mixture across his slick forehead.

"Get his pauldrons," she ordered, and Leliana began frantically unlacing the armor from his shoulders with wet eyes.

With easier access to his aching chest, Elissa slipped her fingers under his breastplate and applied the potion to where he was currently aching the most. Well, the most, tied with about thirty other places on his body.

It did its job well. Sinewy warmth worked its way through his torso. Herbal poultices like this one always brought the sensation of tendrils hardening around his bones, setting them slowly into place while oozing a pollen cloud of numbness to his aching and torn muscles.

Alistair heard before he saw Morrigan crumple on the floor in front of them. Leliana rushed to her side and gently worked a flask of Lyrium potion between her chapped lips until she roused.

Just then, the horrible song rose in his ears – tantalizing and abhorrent. Elissa sensed it too. She bolted upright, curling fingers around her broadsword. The women whipped around to see what brought her to her feet a moment before they too heard the approaching darkspawn horde.

Elissa turned to Alistair, forehead creased with something that could have been pity.

"If anything makes its way in here, just… look dead."

He blinked twice in response, prostrate on the cold slab.

"Um, yeah, that's good," she said.

Spinning on her heel, Elissa advanced out of the alcove, followed by the two limping women, toward the slavering horde getting ever closer. Alistair squeezed his eyes closed and gulped hard as the potion coiled blessedly tighter around his limbs.


	26. Battery

Kalya came to with a jolt. The thick bag covering her head made it difficult to breathe. Her hands chafed, bound tightly behind the back of a rickety chair. Still a bit drunk, the only thoughts that took hold in the blackness were furious rage and promised revenge. The crown of her head throbbed where the pommel had crashed down on her. What she wouldn't give to wake up just once without a splitting headache.

With a flourish, the bag was pulled off from behind. Dusty, cold air flooded her lungs. A beam of moonlight from a high window was all that illuminated the room around her. A warehouse. Abandoned? No, the floor was swept clean. This place was used frequently, but not for storage – not the legal kind, anyway.

"I hope you will accept my most sincere apologies."

Zevran stepped into the blue beam of light with his palms up, composed and congenial as a Sister of the Chantry.

" _You!_ "

"I  _had_  intended to bring you here, er… conscious. I am sorry to say you forced my hand with your screams. Couldn't have Denerim's night guards following me to this place."

The elf circled her like a mountain cat, lithe and sleek. And threatening.

"I truly apologize for the bump on the head. Although it does segue into our first lesson quite poetically."

"Lesson?!" Kalya spat. "You planning to teach me with your throat slit?!"

Zevran's mouth turned down into an almost comical pout. What the hell was this? After a moment absorbing her glared daggers, he took a deep breath, eyes closed. The guy could have won awards in the play-actors' troupe with the mask of regret he was pantomiming.

"Kalya, I've… been watching you. The nobles in the market. The rapists outside the Alienage. That woman who beat her mabari."

Hairs pricked up along the back of her neck.

"That was… that was months ago."

"You're a skilled rogue – a skilled fighter –  _when_  it's on your terms. But that alone is not enough to survive those who might want you dead."

"Who, the Arl's guards? I'm sure they have better things to do than hunt me down."

"Doesn't take much coin to hire someone to do the hunting,  _mia cara_. Many  _live_  for the hunt."

Kalya's eyes widened. With an uneasy chuckle, Zevran held up his hands in defense.

"Not me, no. Maker, I'm doing this all wrong."

He sank to a crouch before her.

"I wish to train you. There is darkness in the coming months. Neither of us can avoid it, and I fear you won't survive without my help."

"And when I agreed on the rooftop to let you train me, you thought you'd start by dragging me unconscious to a warehouse for our first lesson? You're twisted."

His stoic expression cracked into a guilty smile.

"On  _that_  I won't disagree. Forgive me for being blunt, but it's… discipline you lack. You'd show up nightly for lessons, with an apple for teacher?" He clucked his tongue. "No, you're not built for that. Not with your, shall we say,  _thirst_  for self-flagellation."

She spat bitterly onto the cold floor. "You know nothing about me."

"I know you're as stubborn as I once was. It's stunning how much you remind me of me."

Kalya cocked her head. "Then you'll understand why I'll stick around just to stab you in the back the first chance I get."

A twinkle from the moonlight caught in his eye. "I'm counting on it."

He clapped hands over his knees and rose to his feet.

"It will take time before you can trust me. That I understand. That's why, in lesson one, I promise not to harm you."

Kalya rolled her eyes. She loathed being a pawn in whatever twisted game the elf was playing, but what choice did she have? Her head still throbbed angrily. At least the dizziness from the ale was slowly ebbing away.

"And what is lesson one?" she asked.

"Pain."

She blinked. The way he tasted the word sent shivers down her spine.

"But you said –"

" _I_ won't harm you today." The elf couldn't stifle a vicious smile. "Rope hurts."

Kalya acted in an instant, hoping his sadism bought her a moment of distraction. With a widened stance, she lifted herself with the chair and curled forward savagely, driving her head to butt against his. One more contusion to add to the lot.

Zevran was taller than her, but not by much. Her forehead connected with the bridge of his nose and sent him staggering back a meter or so. It didn't unleash the spray of blood she'd imagined. Still, the elf wiped his nose with the back of his hand, eyes wide. Hopefully, it had hurt. A lot.

Still hunched over, Kalya closed the gap between them and swung to the left with all her might, driving the chair into his ribs. Zev dropped his weight. The force barely moved him. He pushed the chair with both hands in the opposite direction, swinging Kalya with it. The rope bit into her wrists as she tried to work them over the back of the chair, to no avail. Splintery heat split into her skin like an overripe fruit as she skittered to her right.

When Zevran advanced again, she kicked out a leg towards his crotch and missed its height by centimeters. Still, with one leg between his, she scissored with brutal force, toppling them both to the side. Kalya landed hard on her shoulder and scraped her cheek across the stone ground.

At this angle, she was able to hook her ankles around the chair's crossbar and push free, slipping her arms over the back. She kicked it towards him and rose from her crouch, hopping backwards over her bound wrists.

Her blood colored the rope red. Every movement cut deeper, stinging to dizzying distraction. Zevran shook his head as he advanced slowly.

"You're doing well. Will you allow me to set you free?"

She spat in his face. He wiped it away with a thumb, still smirking.

"I do not blame you the betrayal you feel. But a day will come where you will thank me."

With a roar, Kalya swung both her fists in an arc towards Zevran's face. He caught them with one hand.

"Can we at least level the playing field? Unfair fights with beautiful women grate on my conscience."

Reaching behind him, Zevran procured a sharp dagger that glinted in the moonlight. Kalya winced when he slashed forward with it, but it slid silkily through the ropes binding her wrists.

The rush of relief was momentary. The rope had been acting as a cork. Now gone, her wounds bled freely. Color drained from her vision, and she shook her head to clear it. Hands raised, ever-defensive, Zevran made to slip the knife back in his belt, when Kalya lunged forward and slammed a fist in the crook of his elbow. He dropped the blade, and she caught it by the handle on its descent. She slashed towards the elf, and he bowed inward, missing being gutted by centimeters.

Kalya continued jabbing wildly while Zevran danced out of its way, seeming to learn her rhythm and anticipate where to juke. But he never advanced. Kalya could feel his restraint, only acting on defense, and the insult fueled her rage. She longed to make him regret going easy on her, but every furious thrust missed its mark.

When her swings finally exhausted her, Zevran caught her by one forearm, then the other – squeezing tightly so as not to slide down to her tender wrists – and bowed his head in respect.

"Kalya," he said, gulping for air, "will you save this rage for another time? If you are sore tomorrow, it will be harder to make me suffer. That's what you want, is it not?"

Her chest heaved, gaze boring into his with an ungraceful snarl.

"I deserve all you want to befall me and more," he said. No smirk belied his emotions now. What she had read earlier as pity, suddenly looked genuinely like… worry.

"What do you care?" she asked. "Huh? What's one more drunk elf gutted by the Arl's soldiers to you? We're  _strangers_ , or we  _would_  be if you weren't such a creep!"

Zevran took a chance dropping her hands. She didn't raise them again. Exhausted, she averted her gaze, hoping he couldn't see the frustrated wetness gathering in her eyes.

"As I said, you remind me of myself. If I had someone to prepare  _me_ , I swear I would have preferred the training to the test."

"Prepared you for what?"

Zevran's shoulders fell. He broke eye contact.

"The coming darkness. That's all I can say."

:::

Kalya refused to let Zevran walk her home in the early morning hours. He probably followed her anyway, but she was too tired to care. She did not refuse the three vials of healing potion he had tucked into her hands before they parted ways outside the warehouse's back alley.

As she lay in bed, aching all over, filthy, and still bleeding, Alistair's face crept into her consciousness, as it often did when crushing guilt felt too much to bear.

Of all Zevran's inappropriate actions and arrogant words, one judgment rang too painfully true to ignore. She  _wouldn't_  have gone to him for training, and look how badly she needed it. Her own rituals had gotten her this far, and she'd thought that was enough. Zevran had proven it wasn't.

Now that she no longer had a death wish, she'd eased into a false security when she ensured the fights were unfair. But the one time a noble in the market could fight back or the rapist wasn't a sniveling coward caught off-guard… She shuddered atop her chilly mattress.

Alistair, Riordan, Nelaros. There was no one left to chastise her for negligence, and without outside motivation, she had become careless. Unless she believed what the Chantry said about the afterlife, in which case, all three were looking down upon her, sharing her shame.

When the Witch saved her with the cryptic rationale that Thedas needed her vengeance, the sentiment hadn't resonated. She had no sense of country, no pride for Denerim. Kalya's enemy was on the smaller scale. Evil in the hearts of singular men was a darkness that transcended borders and politics. That was what she fought for, and the appetite to quash that evil was still alight within her. Who did that sound like?

In a world where their own countrymen lost faith in them, Grey Wardens saved sometimes one soul at a time from the oncoming Blight. They exercised unimaginable discipline, even when it was excruciating. Even when they'd lost loved ones. Even when they had nothing left to live for but the salvation of those too weak to save themselves.

While she had a feeling she would meet Zevran again whether she wanted to or not, this time she would be willing. She owed Alistair that much.


	27. Best Served Cold

After a day's sleep, Kalya woke to the setting sun as it illuminated dust motes in the air in brilliant oranges and reds. Now that 12 hours had passed since she'd downed the first vial of potion Zevran had offered, she uncorked the second and drank in the loamy sweetness. Potion hangovers were even worse than those brought on by alcohol, which was the only thing that kept her from chugging all three the moment her door was shut. The elixir healed her cuts and sprains, but as always, the colorful bruises remained, as did a distant aching soreness that only time could heal.

She didn't dare leave the house. Nor did she perform her daily ritual of training. It seemed she was to be trained by another, and she was in too foul a mood to revisit how badly she needed his guidance.

Her kitchen lay overturned hours later. Kalya had found only a dried stick of meat and half a bottle of wine, which she finished in minutes, still famished. It would have to do. She curled back on her threadbare mattress a few hours before dawn to sleep through the rest of the pain, knowing she'd have to leave the house eventually. For food, and mostly for drink. And she knew Zevran would be waiting.

What she didn't expect was the intensity of her withdrawals. Kalya awoke trembling in a pool of sweat, coiled into a tight ball. Forcing her breathing to slow, she groaned to a sitting position and ran a shaky hand through her hair. With a wash of relief, she remembered the final vial on her bedside table and downed it in a few feverish gulps. It calmed her racing heart and quieted the cramps in her stomach, but weakness persisted. And the shakes. Still, she had to get out of the apartment.

It felt appropriate on several levels to don heavy leather armor just to face the world. Reason told her she should stick to the late-afternoon markets to fuel up on proteins, but without conscious decision, her feet brought her to the dusty side road leading to the Pearl.

Jumpy as she was, Kalya was ready for Zevran when he descended behind her from a rooftop at the street's corner. She spun around low and swept his ankle before she could see his hands up in defense. The spinning immediately made her queasy, and she lurched to steady herself on the building, hand clapped over her mouth. Zevran landed hard on his tailbone. Good.

Cautiously, he rose to his feet, rubbing his backside.

"My instruction is already starting to pay off," he said with a wry smile. "Instant results!"

"Zevran, please." Kalya closed her eyes to stop the spinning. "I'll come with you. Just… give me an hour."

He lowered his gaze. "You won't believe me, but I know what you are going through."

"I don't, because if you did, you would let me do this."

She expected a bitter laugh at her expense that never came.

"Kalya, give me the chance to win your trust. I think you'll like today's lesson."

She took in the sight of the elf, hands on his hips, a mixture of impish charm and threatening confidence. If she turned to run, he'd tackle her in an instant.

"Do I have a choice?"

He shook his head, eyebrows raised, but the smile never left his face.

:::

Kalya had been in such a daze when she last left the warehouse, she hadn't noted its location. Central to the town's main thoroughfare, teasingly close to the Arl's estate, and yet, no one seemed to question the unremarkable half a city block that had no visible entrances.

Zevran led her down the slim back alley and expertly picked the lock on the fortified steel door. No remnants of vagrants having bedded down for the night littered the dead-end, a rare sight in any Denerim alleyway. This place was immaculate.

Inside, in the center of a maze of crates, Zevran lit a triangle of lanterns with a bit of flintrock, and the room's dusty expanse illuminated. From out of his pack, he procured a skin of liquid that he tossed to Kalya, then went to work laying out a hard wedge of cheese and some dried fruit and nuts on the flattened leather. She uncorked the skin, expecting a bloom of wine and found instead the strong bite of Antivan whiskey within. Her stomach roiled and craved it all at once.

"Have you eaten today?"

Kalya shook her head and took a drag from the skin as they lowered to sit on the chill stone floor. The welcome sting already lifted weight from her chest. Zev touched her elbow to slow her.

"Then let me say one thing before we… lose our lucidity."

She righted the container, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, and nodded for him to go on.

"People like you and me… we cannot allow ourselves to  _need_. Anything."

"Oh? Nothing? Like air?" She rolled her eyes.

Zevran smiled back. "Well, that depends on how deep the water and how strong the arm attempting to drown you. That which can break you will be the first to be taken away by those evil enough, and we mustn't arm our enemies with any more weapons. But, no, I meant more like our loved ones, our safety…. our addictions."

The remark stung. She masked her wince with a gulp and leaned over to snatch a handful of fruit from the spread.

"Do you think I'm proud of this?" she asked, popping a grape into her mouth. "I'm not. But, you know,  _most_  interventions don't start with tossing the addict a canteen of whiskey."

"I wish to be neither enabler nor teetotaler, but if you desire a lifestyle change, there are… methods. As I've said, I've been where you are."

Kalya took a deep breath. So they were going to talk about this now.

"You've woken up cracked and dry," she asked, "nauseous and shaking, night after night? Covered in bruises you didn't even remember receiving? Hating what brought you to rock bottom but unable to quench that thirst, unable to think about anything else in your waking hours?"

"In Antiva, we called it ' _il tremore_.' And, yes. I have. Though you're far from rock bottom, I assure you."

"And you still drink?" She had a hard time imagining the perfect elf curled up in despair and self-loathing.

"It is like I said. I now imbibe without  _needing_  to, so it does not rule me. Although if you seek my help to quit completely, I will heed your wishes."

The words spilled out of her before she could consider them.

"If there's something between cold turkey and… whatever this is, I want to do it."

"There is. And knowing that, I think we can prepare for your second lesson: dexterity."

Kalya waited a beat while he stood before her, his face frozen in an expectant smile.

"Am I supposed to be preparing?" she asked.

Zevran tapped the bottom of the skin in her hand. "Drink up!"

She didn't argue.  _That_  was a quick stint of sobriety. Kalya finished the hunk of cheese in one hand and brought the strong liquor to her lips, taking stock of the dusty warehouse around them. It was clearly well-utilized for needs like theirs. The blood stains on the ground suggested its use as a training ground, but the burn marks spoke to its shroud of secrecy. No government-sanctioned group allowed apostates in their ranks. Well, none but the Grey Wardens.

She drank slowly, allowing the heavy haze to settle in her aching limbs. Eyebrows raised, she tipped the leather flask towards Zevran, who bowed his head in polite decline.

"My instruction will make much more sense if I don't partake. When I drink, I tend to pour all my energy into the three F's: fighting, feeding, and making love."

"Wow." Kalya took one last pull, trying mostly successfully to suppress a smile. She shook the empty skin.

"Are you… good?" Zevran rose to his feet and extended a hand. "Tipsy good, I mean."

"Well, no, but…"

He jerked a thumb back towards their entrance. "The market just a block away has–"

" _Give_  me a few minutes, sheesh. Making me puke won't curb my habits.  _Trust_  me."

When familiar lightness bubbled up in her head, the lesson began. The Drunken Orlesian was a more graceful fighting style than she could have imagined. Riordan had taught her to drop her center of gravity in a fight, to avoid toppling and keep balance, but Zevran taught how to turn topplings into an attack, stumbling in a wavy circle to strike from the side.

She learned how to lean away from an enemy's fevered advance of both fist and sword, saving energy while tiring her opponent. She was  _terrible_  at it, of course, but it made a weird kind of sense. Being loose allowed for a dexterity that could almost be considered graceful, flowing and bending. And the alcohol helped quiet her shame at not being immediately proficient.

When the sun began peeking in the high windows of the covert warehouse, the lesson ended, and Kalya allowed the elf to walk her home. Both of them bruised and bloodied, they clinked twin vials of potion on her doorstep and downed them in tandem before she retired to sleep off the alcohol and pain as the lesson sunk in.

As much as her body ached the next morning, it was much preferable to the miserable regret she had grown accustomed to.

Staring up at the wooden ceiling of her home, Kalya sleepily found herself lost in the splintery whorls of knots dotting the planks above her. Complex and imperfect, the tight curls threatened the strength of each slab, but the structure persisted in spite of them, supported by equally imperfect beams around them. She followed the spiraling grains of the wood, hypnotized to distraction, until the familiar wave of nausea crashed into her and squeezed her eyes shut.


	28. A Poisonous Proposition

Alistair didn't remember falling asleep. Over the hours or days, his eyes opened several times in the dark alcove to deafening silence. He was blessedly too weak to stay awake for long. The crippling guilt of knowing his comrades could be just a few tunnels away in need of his help but unable to receive it was exquisite enough torture in his fluttering moments of consciousness.

Before opening his eyes in one such instance, he thought he felt a warm hand on his own. A pang of grief tore through his chest, knowing it was just another fevered dream. When it squeezed him, and he nearly jumped out of his armor.

He awoke to Elissa's intense gaze fixed on him. Covered in gore, her stoic features were creased, as if the Deep Roads had aged her. He squeezed back, just because it felt so good, and she drew her hand away with a gasp.

"Alistair, I'm so sorry."

Wetness coated his eyes, grateful beyond words this wasn't another dream. That his hallucinations of their screams, visions of the last of the Wardens being torn to shreds while he lay useless hadn't been real. He made to lean up and embrace her, but something in his ribs hadn't set right. She curled her body around his, protecting him.

"I'm so sorry," she repeated.

In moments of lucidity, he had remembered snippets of their journey underground. The battle that crushed him. He remembered why the walls were a horrible, throbbing pink. He remembered fighting the Broodmother, losing ground, and being gripped by an oozing tentacle that flung him savagely against the cave wall. He relived over and over the precise sensation of his spine and ribs snapping, jagged bones jutting into organs that would probably turn out to be important.

"Elissa," his voice croaked. "You have nothing to be sorry about. I… I should have held the line."

Her face lifted from his chest. The sight of tears in her eyes rocked him to his core. The woman who favored practicality over emotion in all things – who didn't think it a priority to help orphans in Lothering, who told Ruck's mother she put him out of his misery and was shocked when the truth upset her, who he was pretty sure he'd seen kick a nug –  _this_  woman was crying. Over him.

"I made a bad call. One that nearly killed you. I can't… I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't woken up."

"Gain approval from Morrigan probably," he said, wincing at a sudden pinch in his side.

"I'm serious."

"Elissa, we know war. We're good at war. That… disgusting blob was kicking our asses, but we won!"

The gravity of silence in their surroundings crashed around him. "We… we won, right?"

She nodded slowly.

"Then why blame yourself? There aren't exactly markets down here to hawk potions when you run out. Although someone could make a  _killing_  setting one up. 'Broodmother's Brews' they could call it."

She averted her gaze. He'd never seen her so uncomfortable. Had they lost someone? Leliana, Morrigan, and the mabari were in the alcove with him when he first awoke. Sten and Oghren had stayed back to fight the darkspawn out of the Broodmother's cove. Had something happened?

"Alistair, we… I  _had_  potions."

He cocked his head to the side, looking very much like the mabari. He'd relived the moment a thousand times, crushed in the thick tentacle tightening like a snake. Leliana had climbed to the highest outcrop of rocks to fire arrows on the abomination. He could still hear her crying out for someone to help him as he was thrashed in all directions. When he felt his neck snap, it was all bleariness and echoes as his vision and hearing started to dim.

Elissa had barked a command for them to power through, that she had exhausted all resources. Morrigan had been on the far side of the jutting rocks when the tentacles blocked the path, leaving the three of them and the Cousland Dog to fight the Broodmother alone.

But Leliana's pleading still echoed perfectly in his ears. "Elissa, he's dying!"

"Fight! On!"

Alistair shook his head slowly. "I don't understand."

"I had three potions left when you were… when she crushed you. Your injuries would have needed all of them, and you were still in her grip. It would have been a wa—"

Elissa shifted in her seat. It was weird to hear her holding back words, thoughts. She who had often shocked Duncan with her callous honesty. Alistair's chest felt heavy. Still, she was their leader. Tough decisions had to be made in battle, even if…

"The Broodmother was near dead." She looked down at her bloodied hands. "I knew if the rest of us continued our assault, we could wear her down, and if she mounted a final attack, I'd still have the three potions for… We'd only need one each, and Morrigan could do the rest, but..."

"You made the right call. And we won because of it. There's nothing to apologize for."

She had a faraway look in her eyes. Glossy and trembling. "I didn't know she was out of mana. When she stumbled around the corner and collapsed, we… we knew you were dead."

Alistair took her arms in his hands. It was weirdly humbling to see her so flustered, so human. Her piercing brown eyes bore into his, and suddenly his stomach felt funny. The gravity of surviving, and of her surviving the darkspawn horde while he lay wounded, surged relief through his aching limbs. Tears gathered in his own eyes, and he flashed a goofy half-smile in embarrassment.

"We're okay, Elissa. It's okay now."

The Warden nodded slowly. The long braid of her chestnut hair slipped off her shoulder, messy and imperfect in a way he'd never seen. Without realizing what he was doing, his strong grip on her arms suddenly felt magnetic. He pulled her towards him. Elissa's soft lips met his – shocked and strained at first, then melting into relieved abandon. There in the murky darkness, several kilometers beneath the surface, Alistair finally felt like he was whole again.

:::

Fighting had never come particularly easily to Kalya. With Riordan, she had ignorance and novice on her side. Every swipe, every grab, every thrust of a knife was new ground, and she and her teacher alike had regarded it as something of a miracle that she didn't somehow stab herself in the process. But it had worked, and she'd made it this far.

With Zevran, killing was a precise dance in a narrow range. There were no points for mere wounding. There was no room for taking a blow in stride and hoping to deflect the next. And he did not go easy on her.

The cycle continued for weeks. Zevran stopped surprising Kalya in dark alleys when she proved trustworthy enough to meet him on her own, at a location near the Alienage, where she suspected he was staying. He never let her enter the warehouse alone, and occasionally, once they met, Zev suddenly changed the training site, and they carried out their lesson in a clearing just out of Denerim's walls.

The lessons spanned a range of topics, but the two most frequent were those with which she began: pain and dexterity.

Kalya's road to sobriety was slow going, thanks to the necessities of mastering the Drunken Orlesian. Like a fool, she yearned for these lessons to quiet the excruciating thirst within, but they made the off-days all the more grueling torture by comparison. Potions helped, but nothing could curb mental cravings or "il tremore."

The lessons in pain, however, were unlike anything Kalya was used to.

Zevran liked to share the tale of the Foolish Swordsman who mastered his art for years. His classical fighting style won him the highest marks in every tournament, so when an opposing family challenged him to a duel, he haughtily agreed. At the first unsuccessful parry, his leg was split open. Just a flesh wound, but the man was so unused to any manner of pain, the shock froze him in place. He missed blocking the next three strikes to his side, arm, and neck, bleeding him out slowly and painfully. That, Zevran repeated, was why it was so important to fight past the pain, to keep focus, and to relish the burst of adrenaline that accompanied it. To feed on it. To crave it.

The whole sentiment certainly explained why, in their one night of lovemaking, Zevran had only been able to keep it together until Kalya tugged savagely at his hair and sank an impassioned bite into the crook of his neck. He certainly did crave it. Eh, to each their own.

Although Kalya declined all Zev's teasing offers, he never did stop flirting with her, but also never pressed the issue further than a suggestion. On the worst nights of training, when Zevran all but carried Kalya back to her apartment, bloodied and bruised, he stayed the night by her side in a rickety chair, applying salves gingerly while she slept. In the mornings, when he was sure she would continue to heal on her own, he left with the most chaste smile he could muster.

The training regimen was certainly twisted, but Kalya couldn't help but admit it made her a better fighter. She didn't have to pull any of the rare blows she was able to land on her teacher. With enough potions, the two could spar as if in real battles to the death. In tightening leathers and steadied advances, Kalya could feel her strength and skill increasing rapidly as the weeks passed.

Other lessons interspersed her training. The mixing of poisons, how to melt into crowds and shadows alike, simple points on the body that could bleed out with just a scratch, others that could knock someone unconscious with no lasting effect.

At some point, Zevran felt confident enough to allow her fighting skill back onto the streets, with specific assignments. Kalya relished the opportunity. Compared to fighting Zevran, random thugs would be easy. But his missions were oddly specific, and she began to suspect they weren't originating on his whim.

For her first, she needed to sneak into the tent of a knight competing in a tournament to poison his food. It was essential that the plate of food – delivered as a gift from the opposing side – was present upon his death and the blame be placed on the rival knight's camp. He didn't care how she did it, he said, handing her a thin wooden vial, just that she must not be caught.

Kalya nearly made herself late searching her apartment for servant clothes in the messy pile on her bed – a last-minute decision that should probably have been a lesson in planning if she weren't too angry for anything to sink in. Panting and sweaty, she made it to the grounds with moments to spare. The skittish serving elf with a tray of fruits and cheese was just about to enter the champion's tent. Muttering some story about a fire in the host's kitchens, the elf ran off, leaving her the tray but not enough time to uncork the poison as the tent's flap drew back. Luckily, the knight was too distracted by a small crowd of noble women fawning for his favor to notice her subtly sprinkling the vial into his food as she approached.

His boisterous laugh nearly set her jumping out of her skin. It was only after she set the tray down with a slam and he reached over for a cluster of grapes that she noticed she'd dropped the vial into the spread. She lunged for it, snatching it out as he watched with a sneer. She shrugged and held up the vial.

"Cinnamon, M'lord. Begging your pardon."

Kalya ducked out of the tent and didn't stop running until she was nearly back home. Zevran caught her by surprise – literally, in his arms – and calmed her. After the knight's death, as well as the additional insult of any noble women's deaths, any surviving onlookers who had taken notice of her would assume she was sent by the rival. She had not been caught, and the mark would soon be dead, if he wasn't already.

But, Zevran's face clouded with warning, this task was the easiest of those to come, and no others allowed room for mistakes.


	29. Crime Wave

It was strange for Kalya not to know the subjects of her assassinations; to not allow the atrocity of their crimes to inspire her savagery. When she asked the infraction of one assignment – a wealthy noble whose death was to look like an accident – Zevran simply smiled and folded his arms behind his head.

"If you do not trust me enough to know it must be done, why trust I will tell you the truth?"

Kalya rolled her eyes without looking up from the blade she was sharpening.

"Don't you have a code?"

Zevran threw his head back with a laugh. " _My_  code is paid in adventure and pride. And a few gold sovereigns."

" _You're_  getting paid for this?"

"How do you think I fund our expensive potion habit?" He patted the fat leather sack curled beneath him as he reclined on the cold warehouse floor. "As it is, however, this man is participating in an elven slave ring."

Kalya's eyes lit up. "Why didn't you just say that?!"

"So you believe me?"

She blinked. Sometimes Zevran could be downright infuriating.

It was becoming increasingly clear that Zevran's assignments were more than simple exercises to hone her skill in the real world. All she knew was that they came from an outside source, but she never pressed for more information. Communicating a mission to Kalya was the only time Zevran's soft expressions took on a deadly serious edge. It was unsettling.

The assassination had to be carried out by week's end. As she was taught, she watched her mark's movements from the shadows, even slipping into his home in the dead of night. It was the safest location to stage an accident and ensure no prying eyes looked on. Any elven servants working the late hours kept to the kitchens, and every night, in the early hours, the man rose from his bedroom on the lavish second floor to use the privy.

Nervous and antsy at perfecting the job, she had wasted the week tailing him to learn his habits, leaving just one last evening to finish the job. So, of course, that night, he came home blind drunk and collapsed into his bed, fully clothed and dead to the world. The instructions requiring a physical accident were very clear. A snapped neck in bed would surely lead to an investigation.

Kalya crouched in wait on the second floor, mind spinning with contingencies. Short of tipping his wardrobe on him, the only solution seemed to be her original plan, which needed him upright. Becoming increasingly bolder as the hours ticked by, she rapped on the walls and creaked the floorboards to try and rouse him. Nothing worked. With the light of dawn rising, servants would begin to arrive at the manor any minute. She crept brazenly into his room, took a deep, steadying breath, and shook the man where he lay. Dark curtains and bleary eyes hid her position when he snorted awake, finally recognizing his full bladder.

Dazed and stumbling, the man didn't notice the elf following him silently out the room and down the hall. Right before he approached the stairs, Kalya leapt onto his back, clasping the sides of his head expertly and wrenching his neck to the side with a satisfying pop. He was dead instantly, but his body weight toppled backwards onto her. She fell into a crouch and rammed forward with all her might, sending him careening down the unforgiving staircase. Kalya slipped out his open bedroom window just as an elf in his manor let out a bloodcurdling scream.

Zevran seemed satisfied with her work in general, never overly complimentary but always pleased, offering helpful alternatives to her technique. It was humbling and informative, and her successes satisfied something darkly gratifying within her. Before, she was a fringe vigilante, a glorified neighborhood watch, likely to be felled anytime by anyone sober and skilled. Now she felt like a finely tuned killing instrument. It scared and invigorated her.

Her more difficult assignments involved the opposite of assassinations. Word reached Zevran, however it did, that an attempt was to be made on the life of someone his "associates" would prefer alive. This mission had almost no information, just that this attempt be quashed at any cost.

"Tomorrow," Zevran began as they shared a spread of fruit in the dusty warehouse, "in the square outside the Chantry, Mother Perpetua will address the rumored Blight to a crowd of people. My associates have reason to believe someone wants her silenced. They don't know where this assassin comes from, just that he is inexperienced."

"It's a man," she said.

"A fact that could change by the morrow."

"So it could be anyone."

"It won't be easy, but I believe you're ready." Zevran's tone sent a chill down her spine. Hesitation in his eyes betrayed his misgivings, even if his deceit was for her benefit.

"And you'll be there."

"I'll be there as a last resort, but on the opposite side of the crowd. When the killer is in your sights, you must not only strike, you must drop him and escape without anyone knowing it was you who dealt the blow."

"And his body?"

"Will cause the commotion that provides your escape. You can do this."

Kalya took a deep breath. The rest of their meal passed in silence as she stared blankly through the floor.

:::

The Market Square was more packed than Kalya had seen it. There hadn't been a Blight in hundreds of years and everyone wanted answers, regardless of who spoke them. She doubted the Chantry would know – or share – anything of real value, but it seemed she was in the minority.

Humans, elves, and dwarves alike huddled together in the cold square. By the time Mother Perpetua was expected to begin, the crowds reached so far back into the Market District, a quarter of them wouldn't even be able to hear firsthand.

Kalya had gotten there early, shrouded in a hood, and had positioned herself near the front. Zevran believed Templars lining the outskirts would dissuade all manner of troublemakers to leave long-range weapons at home. Chances were good that the assassination would be carried out by a blade hidden in a sleeve.

Worried expressions painted every face around Kalya as she moved silently through the throngs of people. Just perfect. She had been hoping the one grain of fact she knew – that the assassin was inexperienced – would be enough to set him or her apart from the crowd, with a sweaty brow and darting eyes.

When the Mother emerged from the Chantry and made her way to a small, wooden podium, the congregation fell silent.

"Sisters and brothers, it has long been the folly of man to believe this world is our own. In truth, we are but humble servants to the Maker, whose Golden City fell tarnished by the hubris of those attempting to rise above their station."

Kalya rolled her eyes. A human mother next to her hugged a child tight, barely concealing a sneer of distaste at Kalya's heresy.

"Stories have reached the Divine from all corners of Thedas of a coming darkness, a fifth Blight. But are we not  _always_  clouded in a veil of darkness as punishment for our shame?"

Blah, blah, blah. Religious types sure liked hating themselves, didn't they?

Kalya tuned out the rest of the droning to study those around her. Most onlookers hung on Perpetua's every word. Many seemed impatient, disappointed. More than a few looked worried, as if finding some deeper meaning in the Chantry's nonanswers. Faces blurred together in the innumerable crowd. A sourness churned at the edges of Kalya's stomach. She didn't know how much the Mother had left to drone, but neither did the assassin. The time to strike would be soon.

Then she saw him. An elf had his eyes closed. Still in his teens, he was shrouded, like her, in a grey hood, but his expression and even breathing looked off in the crowd. A different type of worry. Unless… was he praying? Did people pray out in the open, while trying to listen to a spiritual leader? It had to be him. Didn't it?

His shoulders rose, then fell. He looked like he was about to have a panic attack. Kalya scanned the opposite side of crowd for Zevran, hoping for a nodded confirmation, but he was nowhere to be seen. When she glanced back at the elf, he was off, making his way towards the podium just 30 yards and a mass of people away.

She sprung to life, knocking into a few nobles and merchants roughly to the side. So much for keeping a low profile. But then the crowd itself was shifting, serpentine and riled. She hadn't been paying attention – had Mother Perpetua said something unfavorable? Swarms of people seemed to be moving forward, rotating out anyone who couldn't stand their ground or who had thrown their hands up in disgust and were making their way back to their duties.

The grey hood was pushed sideways, too, away from his target, and Kalya closed the space between them, darting expertly between those less nimble on their feet. In the span of an instant, she was three thick bodies away and then right next to him. Her dagger slid out of her sleeve and into the boy's side with deadly ease. His head jerked around, but his gasp was silenced by the roar of the mob. She twisted the knife, then slammed a fist downward into the hilt before drawing it back out. The organ damage wouldn't kill him, but bleeding out would. He tipped forward, held up by the tight confines for an extra moment before slumping to his knees. Kalya slid the bloody knife back into her sleeve and made her way to the far side of the crowd, where Zevran would be waiting.

But the throngs slammed into her and surged her sideways, away from Zevran's position. Someone's desperate hand clapped her shoulder, and she wrenched free. The crowd was losing itself, and the Templars dotting the edges were already making their way to the center. At the podium, the Mother was quickly ushered back into the Chantry for safety. Raw pandemonium prickled Kalya's skin and tightened her chest, even though her job was successfully done. An elf her size could be trampled underfoot with as little as a misstep.

Suddenly, the same hand grasped her tight around one forearm. Then the other arm, a second person. A third crashed into her from behind and clutched the back of her neck with a heavy grip. Like a ragdoll, she was steered toward the outskirts of the crowd, where no Templars stood.

Her hood obscured a view of the men, but the moment her feet found purchase, she dropped her weight and twisted under one arm, trying to crash the two holding her arms into each other, but they were too nimble. The men dressed in all-black leathers wrenched her forward. Dull pressure pressed against her kidney, until something burst through her leathers with the tip of its blade. The shock of pain stuttered her, and she was all but carried from the crowd.

"Keep up and stay quiet, bitch," the huge man snarled in her ear from behind her.

She flexed both wrists. The men had slipped the twin blades from her sleeves. Shit.

Kalya was pulled through a series of alleys, entering backrooms of establishments whose workers ignored them, then exiting into backstreets inaccessible from the main thoroughfare. In all her time spent sleeping outside and tailing thugs through Denerim, she'd never seen this part of town.

Maybe because she'd seen their black leather armor before at the Pearl, or maybe because her wound was distracting, instinct to spout a sarcastic or threatening comment lost out to self-preservation. Outnumbered, unweaponed, and confused, she made a point of squeezing her eyes tight, allowing them to lead her without a fight. If they were taking her somewhere she shouldn't see, she wanted them to know.

When she nearly tripped over a jutting cobblestone, the slick-haired man to her right elbowed her throbbing kidney, popping her eyes open.

"It don't matter if you can see where we're going. You're not coming out."

:::

The men in black never knocked her unconscious. It almost would have been better if they had.

Kalya was awake as they shoved her across the threshold into a long building with a score of sneering onlookers dressed all in black. She was awake as they marched her through a dirty antechamber, with tables of serrated blades and rods and straps that made her want to retch. She was awake as they led her down cobbled serpentine halls and shoved her hard onto her knees into a round, stone prison.

The mildewy keep was puddled and freezing cold. When her kidnappers' footsteps got far enough away, Kalya scrambled to the shadowy perimeter and curled into a ball. The bleeding in her side subsided at some point, and she shivered there for hours, knees bruised and soaking wet through her leathers.

Distant dripping in a nearby cell lulled her to placidity as time passed. When exhaustion finally set in and she nodded off, the door clattered wildly, jerking her awake with a hammering heart. Minutes passed. She quieted her nerves with a deep breath and closed eyes, only to have the cycle repeat. The wooden door nearly rattled off its thick hinges. Kalya began pacing her cell, hopping and stretching, just to stay awake and avoid the primal panic.

There were no windows, no indication of passing time besides her base exhaustion. When a small skin of water was pushed through the door's slot, she estimated she had been imprisoned for a day and a half.

At the two-day mark – maybe? – a human strode through the door, dressed head-to-toe in the same dark leathers. He eyed her up and down with a smirk, hands upon his hips.

"The Dagger of Denerim," he announced with a foreign timbre she couldn't place. "You're not at all what I pictured."

Kalya gulped and balled her fists. Lack of sleep had her on edge and the rush of adrenaline set her eyes wide and wild. Ready to fight or flee, though she doubted she'd get very far with either.

The man's smirk never faltered. He almost looked proud as he spoke. "You've wreaked a bit of havoc these last few months."

His wolfish grin oozed menace, but if he wanted to kill her, he'd had every opportunity. This was psychological. Words spilled out of her on their own volition. This self-preservation thing was humiliating.

"Whatever I did, whatever… reason I'm in here… I'm guessing you didn't lock me up to ask me to leave town, but I absolutely will."

His nostrils flared in amusement. He said nothing for a beat, studying her. "You know, my associates don't think you will survive, but I… I see the spark of fight in you, even still." His eyebrows quirked with a nod. "Good thing, too, or we'd have just killed you weeks ago. I hope they are wrong."

The way he relished her terror, tasting each threat before it rolled off his tongue was so eerily familiar it pricked the hairs up along her skin. Blood rushed through her ears in a pulsating rhythm. "Survive what? I don't even know who you are!"

"How rude of me. I presumed you knew." The man tucked one ankle behind the other and bowed deeply. "I am Johann, of the Antivan Crows. And we own you now."


	30. The Trial of Crows

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: Attempted rape, torture.

Kalya's vision swam and she blinked hard, trying to focus through dizzying palpitations. Stories of the Crows' savagery were somewhat of a bedtime story in the Alienage; a cautionary tale told to wayward elven children who stayed out too late or ventured places they shouldn't. As she grew, so did the rumors. What they did to their enemies, to those who crossed them, even to their own. The only thing she  _hadn't_  heard tell was what they did to prisoners. Her heart rabbited beneath her chest.

"W-what do you want with me?" The words caught in her throat.

"Me?" Johann smiled innocently. "I want you to survive. My  _associates_ , however…" The ravenous expression suddenly flashed back hot across his eyes, as if he were about to devour a decadent feast. " _They_  want to break you. And they are  _very_  good."

Taking a moment's pity on her base fear, he opened his arms and took a step towards her, stopping only when she scrabbled away from him, along the stone wall's round perimeter. A pool of blood from her stabbed kidney still stained the floor. When the man noticed it, his lips curled up in a sneer of disappointment, and he turned toward the entrance.

"Reks!"

Kalya jumped when he shouted, now violently shivering with terror, but Johann just turned back, shaking his head sadly. "Brutal savages. They weren't supposed to… Well, no matter now."

He paced the floor before her.

"Because I admire your work, I will give you some advice."

Johann squared off when he was directly in front of her. Hands on his hips, his imposing figure blotted out the dim light from the hallway.

"You are to endure three trials. Because we Crows are merciful,  _only_  the first can kill you." His head pricked to the side. "Eh. Sometimes the second."

"Trials for what? Why not just kill me?"

The look of innocent confusion softened his features again. "To  _join_  us, girl. And believe me, they'll try."

He bent over, cupping his hands on his knees, and leaned in close with his dead, shark smile.

"One does not  _choose_  to join the Crows. We find those like our own, and keep ones strong enough to survive being broken. My advice to you, Little Dagger? Don't fight back. It will be over quickly, or you will— Well, either way, it will be over quickly."

With that, Johann spun on his boot's heel and marched out the door.

Shame and terror enveloped her shivering frame when the wooden door slammed before her. White heat rose from her core and burned to the tips of her ears. How could she not have placed that accent? How could she not have…

Zevran.

Was he… That day he met her in the Pearl and followed her home, was that just to gain her trust, to get her packaged and delivered to the Crows? No. It was too convoluted, too pointless. He could have just snatched her that night, when she'd been too drunk to stand. But then where had he gone, days ago, when they were supposed to stay in visual contact on the sides of the crowd?

There was no time to make sense of it. The heavy prison door creaked open a second time. A stocky, angry dwarf with angular tattoos etched across her face stomped across the threshold and cracked knuckles along her stubby fingers. Without any more warning, she lunged low toward Kalya, both hands outstretched. Kalya rolled out of the way and sprang haltingly to her feet, stone wall at her back. Pain lanced through her side where the man's knife had caught her, but the flash of searing heat invigorated her senses.

Her training kicked in before she could will it forth, vision crisping at the edges. The subtlest tremor of the woman's flexing muscles betrayed which direction she would lunge next, giving Kalya a millisecond's advantage.

The woman lurched ahead, solid as a boulder, and Kalya swayed out of the way, pain keeping her in place until the very last moment. It worked. The dwarf's forward momentum slammed her into the wall. Roaring with frustration, she reared back and swung a sloppy haymaker upwards at Kalya's head, but Kalya bent underneath.

Balanced for an instant, she shot her foot out to try and sweep the dwarf's legs, but the woman was planted solid. The attempt cost her. The dwarf swung her elbow back and caught Kalya in her wounded side. She cried out, then clenched her teeth, willing tensed muscles to relax into true Drunken Orlesian style. The dwarf drove into her with both fists, and Kalya was thrown back like a rag doll, slamming against the hard wall. Anger muddled the dwarf's technique. When she reared back too far for a punch, Kalya slid down, and the woman's fist connected into the solid stone with a crack.

She let out an otherworldly howl – a mix of fury and pain, eyes wild and teeth gnashing like an animal. She bent to snatch Kalya by the hair, and Kalya scissored her legs wide, knocking the dwarf forward off her feet. It was a foolish move. The woman slammed onto Kalya's stomach with the force of a fallen stone slab. Her elbow connected down into Kalya's face, sending a spray of blood exploding from her nose.

A sick smile split the dwarf's grisly features, and she slid her legs off the sides of Kalya's torso and squeezed tight, locking her in place. Kalya fought to keep her breathing steady, even as the dwarf rained hammer-fisted blows on her face.

Waiting for a moment of hesitation, Kalya's lessons took over on pure instinct. She knew agony well. Zevran's voice echoing in her head calmed her, even through the anger of his betrayal.  _Fighting through pain is strength. Relish the sensation. Let it galvanize you._

Meditation slowed her heart, relaxed her. Through swollen eyes, Kalya watched the dwarf tire herself out, dropping her exhausted guard just for an instant. Kalya lifted her hips and, kicking in with her knees, flung the dwarf into the stone wall above Kalya's head. Her face connected with a satisfying crunch, and when she pulled back, blood gushed from her nose, running down her mouth in a thick stream.

"That's  _it_ , bitch," the woman snarled, scrabbling to her feet.

She kicked Kalya savagely in the torso, then again, then again, harder. Kalya curled into a ball to direct the blows away from her wound, but the dwarf was relentless. The laceration opened wide, and the blows connected with something rattling inside her that made her cough up blood onto her curled hands.

The dwarf dropped to her knees on top of Kalya's torso and slid a thin shiv out of her leathers. From her furtive look towards the door, Kalya assumed it was disallowed in this particular beating. She drove it deep into Kalya's stomach, sliding in with sickening smoothness. The invigorating shock of hot pain curled Kalya upward. With a sudden burst of speed, Kalya headbutted the woman, who tumbled off onto her back. Kalya yanked the shiv out and pounced upon the woman, slicing savagely through her neck without hesitation. Blood pulsed out in the rhythm of her heartbeat, slowing, slowing into a trickle, until the light left her eyes.

Kalya rocked back on her heels, clutching the shiv tight in her fist, as the door burst open and three men stormed in. She lifted her head weakly. There was no more fight in her.

The one in back stopped in his tracks when he saw the body, but the first two stomped towards the pool of blood. Kalya raised her shiv in defense, but had no strength behind it. The man in back finally rushed to the dwarf's side, a blue mist appearing at his hands as he laid them upon her, but nothing roused the woman.

"You weren't… It wasn't…" One of the front men turned towards Kalya, fire blazing behind his eyes. The other quieted him with a raised hand, stomped towards Kalya, and backhanded her with all his might.

The room went floor over ceiling and faded to black.

===

"I need you to hear me, Kalya… Kalya?"

Awareness fuzzed the edges of Kalya's consciousness. The muffled voice got louder, crisper as it pleaded. She blinked awake, groggy and aching, but in less pain than she expected. Something odd thrummed through her body, pulsating from the areas where she'd been stabbed. Both foreign and distantly familiar, it felt almost like… like when the witch had brought her back from the Fade. Healed by magic then?

Her eyes opened. Zevran's face so close to hers startled her in the candlelit room. She jumped. It felt wrong. Constrained. Her wrists and ankles were bound to a hard surface. The horrifying contraption was a y-shaped platform, binding her hands to her sides while spreading her legs sickeningly wide. Her stomach lurched. Zevran swept hair from her forehead, and she jerked away.

"Don't touch me!" Her voice felt raw and scratchy. Zevran dipped his eyes and took a step back. It was unnatural to see such conflict creasing his emotions. A faraway sound snapped his head towards the door and, torn, he leaned in with strange urgency.

"I need to… Please, there isn't much time, but I need you to hear me."

Kalya jerked her head away with a sneer of disgust. He'd helped enough. It was then that she became aware of her clothing. No longer was she wearing the leathers she'd been abducted in. Now, just a shimmering thin cloth covered her body, leaving her cold and exposed between her open legs. She squirmed, nauseated.

"I can't… I can't cut you out of here. They'll find you wherever you go. You have to…" She turned her head to face him, unblinking with hatred and betrayal. He exhaled slowly, sadder than he'd ever shown. Guilty.

He closed his eyes and pulled taut at the binding on her wrists. "And these…" He winced with each word, but willed himself on. "They'll check these when they come in. It has to look strong."

"I don't need anything more from you," she said slowly.

Zevran's eyes glistened wet, locked in her gaze, until another far-off sound set him twisting towards the door and back again.

"Kalya, this trial... Everyone jerks inwards, tries to squeeze their legs closed, but there's a weakness. Here." He tugged at the inner edge of the strap on her left leg, without letting his eyes follow to her bare thigh. "No one tries to open their legs  _farther_. They'll test that you're secure, but only by pulling upward. Do you understand what I'm saying, Kalya?"

"That you're a backstabbing asshole?" She lifted her head to continue, but a groan of pain and exhaustion set it crashing back against the hard platform. A heavy door slammed down the hall.

"Just… remember what I said. Please. You can survive this without… It's almost over."

With one last tug on her leg straps, Zevran spun around and slipped out the door, a quiet clack re-engaging the lock. Kalya sat staring up at the ceiling in the almost-dark for nearly an hour, trying to ignore everything she had ever thought about Zevran.

When the door finally opened with a crash, Kalya instinctively jerked away from it. Dull aches from her wounds throbbed as she willed her breathing steady.

A cocky elf with a shock of red hair and tattoos covering half his face sauntered hungrily to the foot of the platform, where she laid spread eagle before him. Instinctively, her knees bowed inward, but it wasn't enough to hide herself.

"You're the feisty one, yeh?" His accent was low-class Fereldan. He licked his lips wolfishly, rubbing his hands together. A hardness pulsed along her thigh through his leathers as he leaned to test the strength of each strap, pulling up with a wink.

"Wiggle around, would ya, love? I like the elven ones best." He slammed his hands on either side of her torso, leaning close over her. "We're already broken. Less of a fight."

He waited a beat to savor the terror on Kalya's face, then slowly leaned back to unlace his breeches, lip curled and beginning to breathe heavily.

When he released himself into his hand, he lowered his eyes to her center. Lifting the hem of her dress delicately, almost politely, he released a guttural groan of pleasure as he readied himself with quick jerking motions.

He took a step closer, settling nearly into position. When his hungry eyes followed his hand caressing her thigh, anger exploded within Kalya. Remembering Zevran's words, she went against all instinct and wrenched her legs outward. Sure enough, the strap on her left leg had been weakened on its inner fastening, and her leg snapped free.

In the blast of an instant, she crunched her knee towards her and surged her heel forward, catching the elf square in the crotch, crushing his swollen arousal. He bent over her with a helpless wail, both hands cupping his manhood. Her right leg kicked out against its confines, to no avail. The elf's keening would have guards at the door in an instant, but ferocity blinded her judgment. She raised her free leg up into the air and crashed it savagely into the base of the ruddy elf's skull.

It was a blackout move she'd learned grappling with Zevran, and, as it had before, the force of the blow dropped him to the ground like a stone, cracking his chin against the floor with a sickening crunch.


	31. Restocking the Guild

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: Torture

The moments that followed were altogether too silent. Blood rushed through Kalya's ears, and she waited for the inevitable flow of guards to punish her for insolence, but they never came.

The man didn't rouse from the ground.

From what she know of executing the blackout move on Zevran and having it done to her, she had around 5 minutes before he awoke with a nasty headache. She shimmied her bound leg slowly within its confines, trying to wriggle free. After a solid minute, her frantic movements turned into jerks of every direction, trying to snap the leather in the same way the other had come free. Nothing worked. The skin on her leg and wrists split where she rubbed them raw against her confines.

Outside the door, footsteps echoed louder and louder, stopping before the threshold, as if waiting for some sound of movement. The door creaked open, and Johann strode confidently inside. Kalya wrapped her free leg tight against the bound one, closing herself off from him. But catching sight of the elf on the floor, he simply shook his head with a chuckle.

"You just continue to surprise, don't you, my little Dagger?" He snapped his fingers and another human scurried in, headed straight for the base of the platform. For a moment, Kalya thought the man was going to pick up where the other had left off, now with an audience, and she winced, setting the leather straps deeper into her raw wounds. But the man knelt over to scoop the elf up and hoist him over his shoulder before slipping out the door as silently as he'd entered.

"I am nothing if not fair. We'll call that one a forfeit. Oh, the others are going to be so displeased." For a moment, his features creased with concern before he clapped his hands together and exclaimed, "I love it!"

He approached the cold platform and knelt down at her waist, gently unclasping the straps from the underside until her wrists sprung free. Approaching her right leg from a respectful distance, he never lifted his eyes towards her, humming a discordant tune as he freed her final leg.

When he rose, he walked slowly to the broken strap and examined it with a cluck of his tongue. For a moment, Kalya's heart caught in her throat with the sudden fear that Zevran had created the weakness and his work would be noticeable, but Johann just shook his head with a sigh and flicked the worn leather with a finger.

"When you employ criminals, you get shoddy craftsmanship, unfortunately."

Kalya tracked his movements as he sauntered to her side and stopped, hands on his hips.

"Now, I need to bring you into the chamber for your final trial. Are you going to flip me over your head or stab me with some hidden shiv?"

Kalya shook her head. In truth, she wasn't sure how she'd react, but she was exhausted and suspected it wasn't wise to do much of anything.

"There's a smart girl," he said, unfastening something from behind his belt. "Unfortunately, since you've been  _so_  unpredictable, I'm going to have to take precautions. You understand."

Metallic handcuffs clanked as he clapped them over her bloodied wrists. With a squint at her wounds, he added, "We can fix that before we get started."

Johann led Kalya down the hall and into a cramped, echoing chamber. Still wearing just the light shift, she shivered as her bare feet slapped across the cold stone floor. In the darkness, she could make out some of the tools she'd seen earlier lining the walls inside – rods, knives, whips, chains of all shapes and sizes. A wooden platform stood under a bright lantern, less perverse than the other, with metal clasps for all four limbs, but the legs were much closer together.

Kalya suddenly became aware of four figures in dark robes lingering in the darkness at the far corner of the shadowy room, and it sent her stuttering backwards, stumbling into Johann, who gave a hearty chuckle.

"Oh, don't worry about them, Dagger. They're the ones you  _want_."

As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, a dull-blue glow emanated from a row of vials behind the figures. Blood pulsed through her veins as Johann nudged her towards the wooden platform.

"Up we go," he said, and Kalya obliged, sheepishly crawling onto her prison. The plank was stained and grooved with harsh slashes, ghosted scars highlighting its history of torture. Kalya smoothed her shift down on her legs as Johann cuffed her in.

The four figures – all human, two female, two male – stepped out ominously from the shadows and took their places at all four corners of the platform where she lay, but remained motionless, not even lowering their eyes.

Johann turned to the mage at her feet, suddenly remembering. "Jez, would you mind a little pre-heal? Our friend here is a bit bloody at the wrists."

The woman raised her hand, twisting a blue glow within it before lowering it over Kalya's body. Soothing coolness rushed downward like a balm over her wrists and where her leg had strained against its confines. After a few moments, Johann's gaze connected with Kalya's in silent question. She nodded, and the woman extinguished the glow and took a step back. The entire scene was so surreal, Kalya wasn't sure what to expect next.

Johann stepped back towards the door and clasped his hands in front of him with a wide stance. So he was to bear witness to this one.

"Turk?" he called out, and the door opened. The same ruddy-haired elf limped in with a scowl and made his way to one of the far tables of tools. He carefully selected a flexible metal strip, a bit thinner than ones used for measuring, and shuffled to Kalya's side with a deep sneer.

Without warning, he brought the switch down savagely across Kalya's face. She felt wetness as her lip split, and his eyes narrowed, relishing the pain. After a beat, he continued whipping her shoulders and arms, slicing down her body and back up, with no pattern to his rage. All Kalya could do to brace herself was wince on every upswing and hope he ventured to her thighs and biceps, where the skin was thicker and more absorbent of the blows.

Turk's eyes were lit with fire, his mouth curled into a grotesque smirk as he went, never tiring. When he returned to her face, he stopped hitting her with just the switch alone, and began punching her savagely, over and over, as hard as he could, with the rod squeezed tightly in his hand to strengthen his strike.

One eye swelled shut, and when Kalya instinctively turned her head away, he grabbed her hair in a fist, and jerked her toward him, slamming into her face with his elbow. Blast after blast after blast until Kalya just went limp. Still conscious, all she could do was lay there as the explosive bursts of pain continued swelling her head.

"All right, Turk, that's enough," Johann spoke up from his corner, but the blows kept raining down. "That's  _enough_!"

Turk stepped back and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, shoulders heaving and looking dazed.

"This is a  _trial_ , not your personal vendetta."

Turk pursed his lips sardonically and nodded with a roll of his eyes, then made his way back to the table.

"Mages ready?"

All four robed figures nodded and raised their hands over Kalya's broken body.

"Go ahead."

Kalya winced with her last ounce of strength, but the mages' hands again glowed blue, and the same warmth spread throughout her limbs, tingling and soothing as it surged to every corner of her body. The excruciating throbbing in her head wicked away first, then the bones in her face felt… righted into position. Tendrils of healing reached through her veins until all that was left were pricking bursts of pain from small cuts left by the switch. Soon, they too subsided.

The mages seemed to sense when their work was done, and the glow around their hands extinguished as they took a step backward, creepily in sync with one another. The same human directly to Kalya's lower right – Jez – turned to Johann with a nod.

"Travella?" he called out, and the heavy door once again opened. A human woman with dusty blond hair and almond eyes stormed in with a huff. She carried a long, gnarled staff at her back, but wore odd light leathers that resembled something between a robe and a kilt. When she reached Kalya's side, she leaned over to whisper in her ear, "This is for Ostan, you bitch. I'm gonna enjoy this."

Quick as a flash, she flipped the staff into one hand and an exploding bolt pierced the air and slammed into Kalya's chest, stopping her heart instantly. Kalya's mouth gaped open as she strained for air that wouldn't fill her lungs. Her vision began slowly greying out.

Movements slowed and fuzzed her field of sight. She could just barely make out the mage at her feet stepping forward to revive her. Suddenly, a healing pulse jolted Kalya back into awareness, restarting her heart wildly in her chest.

But Travella had already begun circling her staff for another spell. Tentacles of chain lightning electrified each of Kalya's limbs, wrenching her off the wooden platform and setting her shivering violently with the shock. The mage who'd stepped forward was included in the lightning chain, and she flew backwards across the room, knocking into a table of tools.

"Vella!" Johann shouted.

"Sorry, sorry."

The three remaining mages wordlessly summoned a blue barrier of protection around themselves as their fallen comrade joined their side and began healing herself, still smoking a bit.

All the hair on Kalya's body stood up, electrified, and the smell of ozone hung in the air. Each jolt seemed to short-circuit her brain, freezing her in place until the shock subsided and the excruciating pain set in – a strange pulling sensation, like her body was no longer held together as it should be.

Travella summoned a static cage that hung in the air above Kalya's body, sending random bolts crashing into every inch of her shivering frame. Minute after agonizing minute electricity rained down, until Kalya could smell her flesh sizzling at the connection points. Finally, looking weak, the mage lowered her arms and stumbled to the back wall, where she grabbed a blue vial, uncorked it, and downed it unceremoniously.

The mages stepped forward again to begin the healing process. Though the pain wicked away, the ghost of the electric shocks remained. Completely drained by her body's base reaction to throbbing pain, Kalya felt herself losing consciousness even as the warm healing worked its way through her veins. Her eyelids felt heavy, fluttering every few seconds. She yearned to just fall under, to let them inflict what pain they would and be done with it. The male mage at her shoulder noticed and turned towards Johann.

"We're losing her."

"Go ahead, then," Johann answered.

A blast of white jerked through Kalya. Like splashing into a cold stream or the sudden awareness of being ripped out of the Fade, Kalya was all at once alert and sharply attuned to body and mind.

Under another circumstance, it wouldn't have been an altogether uncomfortable sensation. But here on this splintered surface, fully cognizant for all the torture to come, Kalya was suddenly filled with heart-wrenching sadness. Zevran had said it was almost over, it was almost over. But living it… the seconds seemed longer. She fought back tears with every ounce of her unwanted strength.

It seemed it was Turk's turn again. He strode forward with a thick rod in one hand and chunky brass knuckles fitted around the other. Eyes widening in horror at his approach with the rod, Kalya clapped her legs together tighter, which made Turk snort.

"You wish, whore," he said before raising the rod above his head and dropping it savagely on her kneecap, shattering it. Without missing a beat, he drove his metallic fist into her thigh, but the pain was eclipsed by throbbing shards floating through her leg's bloodstream.

Turk continued the onslaught, up and down her body, smashing through ribs, bloodying her nose, swelling her eyes shut as the brass knuckles connected with her eye socket. He seemed to prefer the knuckles over the rod, where he could relish the physical connection with her tender flesh. Hammering mercilessly into her stomach, he watched her wrench against the metal constraints, then bashed again into her shattered ribs for good measure. Kalya's internal organs felt so sublimely wrong, she turned her head and vomited blood until she was just retching.

When Turk finally tired – or his time was up – the healings came again. Kalya blinked and breathed heavily to look more alert than she felt. Anything to keep the white jolt of awareness from her weary body.

"Last round," Johann broke the silence from the darkness by the door, "make it count. Something besides electricity?"

"Ugh, I'm shite at fire magic." Travella grunted and downed another blue potion. Wiping her mouth with the back of one hand, she stepped forward and unleashed searing fireballs at Kalya's arms and legs. With her other hand, she alternated freezing ice attacks on the burned limbs. One moment, Kalya's leg felt impossibly stiff and excruciatingly brittle. The next, prickles of heat burst through the ice, melting stiffness away and broiling the limb into a scorched crisp.

A cone of cold enveloped the whole of Kalya's body, holding it tightly in place. While Travella languished heating each individual limb with roasting heat, Kalya couldn't even move her face to wince in pain. Her eyes bulged in their icy prison until the limb refroze and the process began again.

Kalya could do nothing but focus on the pain. Not to tire her opponent this time, but to allow the passage of time to carry her closer to the end. She focused on the tables, the rows of tools, on the faces of the stoic mages. She distantly became aware of the door opening behind her and someone distracting Johann with some Crow issue that suddenly needed his attention.

Travella was tiring fast from the different types of magic and finally fell backwards into one of the mages, who caught her and helped prop her against the potion table. Kalya blinked slowly, careful not to let herself believe she had truly reached the end. The three remaining mages began raising their hands to heal, when a roar of fury jolted her with terror.

Turk ran towards Kalya's limp body at full speed with a broadsword raised as far over his head as his lithe muscles would allow. Fear flashed in the mages' eyes, and one of the men spun urgently towards Johann while another dove out of the way. This was not part of the trial.

Slicing the heavy broadsword down with both hands, Turk drove it deep into Kalya's midsection. The exquisite feeling of her skin, muscles, and organs being ripped in two was unlike any pain she had ever felt. The heft of the weapon, combined with the splintery aspect of the well-used platform, plunged it deep within her, through the wood, widening her the deeper it went. Blood spurt sideways from the wound in thick rivulets, and Kalya wrenched her neck upwards, choking again on her own blood.

With her last flash of consciousness, she was aware only in slow motion of Johann running towards her, backhanding Turk savagely across the face, and screaming something unintelligible at the befuddled, gaping mages.

Then, as was becoming frightening habitual, the world faded to black.

===

There was an overstuffed chair. Sweet smells flavored an otherwise dank room. Limbs unbound, reclined, but in slight discomfort, Kalya slowly blinked awake. The room was hazy. Lit by candles, but not enough. Zevran straightened in a nearby chair, eager but hesitant.

Kalya squirmed in her seat. Healed, but it felt wrong somehow in a way she couldn't define. She flexed her hands. Worked well enough to hold daggers.

Zevran stirred again, leaning forward on the edge of his seat, unable to put his thoughts to words. Finally, with a deep breath, he began.

"There is… a lot to say."

"And a lot to forgive, I assume," Kalya said, maintaining piercing eye contact. "You can save your breath."

"I will  _not_  ask your forgiveness." Zevran's eyes suddenly looked cold and clear. "What I did, I would do again without an instant's hesitation."

Kalya could have laughed. "That may be your first honest sentence to me since we've met. How refreshing for you. I think we're done here."

As she huffed sardonically, a thread of something caught in her midsection. Her wince made Zevran sit up straighter.

"Your stomach," he said. "Are you in much pain?"

Kalya sighed deeply, determined not to mistake caring about broken property for friendship. Still, the wrongness was surreal. She had broken a pinky once as a child, hidden it from her father, and it had set incorrectly. She could still hold her knives and go about tactile life just fine, but it never bent the same way again. Her midsection felt like that – hastily stitched together, and not exactly at the seam where it was severed.

"I'm alive, I suppose. What, were those mages hourly or something?"

Zevran's posture softened, but only for a moment. "Your wounds were massive, and the mages were already dangerously low on lyrium. So much time passed before they could… heal you properly." He gulped, but his eyes were warm with genuine relief. "They guaranteed you would survive, but you'll have a scar for the rest of your life, I'm afraid."

His mouth cracked into a sad smile. "Welcome to the Crows."

Silence hung in the air between them. Kalya had a hundred questions – what was next, where would she live, what would she do – and she sincerely did not want to turn to the likes of Travella, Turk, or any of the cold mages for answers. Still, she didn't want to give Zevran the satisfaction of conversing like friends, so they sat in quiet until the urge became too great for her to stand.

"So I'm Crow property now, huh? Assassin for hire, with no say in the matter, no way out. Can't run, can't hide. I suppose I could off myself, but at this point, I almost want to stay alive just to piss those assholes off."

Zevran chuckled. "There's an old joke that Crows don't commit suicide. They just take on a contract well beyond their skill."

Kalya rolled her eyes.

"Don't say that to Johann, though," he continued. "He doesn't care for that joke."

The room was chilly. Kalya still wore the light shift, pierced in the middle by a broadsword. She ached to see the damage, but it was probably best left for when she didn't have an audience. At catching her eyeing the door, Zevran cleared his throat uncomfortably.

"I… As much as I have to say, it's maybe best for another time. I can show you to your quarters."

"My quarters?" So she  _was_  to live amongst them.

"New recruits live on the compound," he began, drawing in a deep breath. "You are also assigned a Keeper, and I hesitate to inform you that I volunteered. I hope you'll find me preferable to Turk or one of the other sneering lot who bet against you."

"They bet against everyone," Kalya said, rolling her eyes.

Zevran didn't bother sparing her feelings. "They  _really_  disliked you. It's… a long story." This honesty was going to take some getting used to.

"Let me escort you to your room. There's a change of clothes and a washroom down the hall. I snuck in a bit of food. You probably won't want to join the savages in the mess hall just yet. Sleep for a very long time, and tomorrow, if you'll permit me, I'd like to tell you everything."


	32. Blood of Warning

The smell of stale smoke and Fereldan Ale hit Kalya the moment she crossed the threshold of the Spotted Pig. It had certainly been a while since she'd even thought of this place.

Zevran's eyes lit up when he saw her, eyebrows sloping downwards at the edges, unabashed with relief. He sat alone, off to her right, at the table closest to the door. Always closest to the door, just like his preferred booth when they used to frequent the Pearl together.

Not meeting his gaze, Kalya slid into the chair across from him, eager to get this over with.

"I almost thought you weren't going to show," Zevran said. He flashed her a muted version of the flirty smile he couldn't seem to turn completely off.

" _I_  almost thought I was gonna get my throat slit trying to leave the compound. It would have been poetic – one final cherry on top of you ruining my life."

Zevran's lips pressed into a hard line for a moment and then softened. "I had your leave approved."

"Oh,  _did_  you?" Kalya bowed deeply. "Well,  _thank_  you, ser. I might need to use the privy later. Shall we start filing the paperwork now?"

With an elbow on the table, she raked a hand through her hair and held it in the back with a fist. Her hair hadn't been this long in quite some time. Nearly past her shoulders. In her last weeks of freedom, she had been itching to take a knife to it but never done so. Didn't seem so important now. "I'm surprised I wasn't tailed coming here."

"You were."

Kalya widened her eyes in mock excitement. What a fun life ahead.

"How's the stomach?"

"It feels terrible and looks worse," she said with an impatient sigh. It felt weird to discuss her well-being with the cause of her lack thereof.

Scanning the interior of her old haunt, Kalya noticed a lot had changed. The three-to-six-piece band was no longer set up in the corner, although there was still the small, dusty platform, pitifully hoping for a reunion. The entire place seemed to have fallen into disrepair, with rickety chairs and slanting tables that didn't fully survive a bar fight or a drunk's weight. She would have never let the tables get this dusty, either.

One fixture hadn't changed, though. Nolan was hunched over the tap, pouring two modest ales near his swaying band of regulars. At making eye-contact, he hurried to them, setting the drinks before them at the only occupied table of the establishment.

Zevran nodded at his arrival. "I got us some Dwarven Ale."

Nolan bowed and left without a word. If he recognized her, realization didn't betray his features.

She pulled the mug towards her. "If  _you're_  buying, the fish and potatoes are good here."

Zevran raised an eyebrow.

"I, uh, used to work here," she said. It felt like a lifetime ago.  _Several_  lifetimes ago.

Scooting his chair back, Zevran held a finger up to her, then joined Nolan at the bar. At first, the barkeep shook his head, thumbing backwards towards the kitchen. This, too, hadn't changed. He wasn't going to turn on the grill for two people – elves no less. But Zevran leaned over the bar with a smoldering pout and pressed a few silvers into the man's palm. That changed his mind real quick.

Zevran returned their table with a wink. "Did you find the snacks in your room?"

Kalya raised her mug with a nod. "Ate 'em all."

This got a snort from the elf. "All?! They were supposed to last you the week!" He swirled his ale around in its metal stein. "I can get you some more."

"If you'll allow me to raid my flat, I can get some money and buy snacks myself like a big girl."

He sat the mug back on the table, averting his eyes. "I, um… There's nothing left at your apartment. It's a deterrent for defectors."

Her jaw dropped. Nothing came to mind that she had been particularly attached to, but… what little she had had been hers. Now there was nothing. She took a long gulp of ale. How many times now had her entire existence been erased?

Still, it seemed a lot to clean out. Unless…

"How long was I out?"

Zevran took a deep breath. "Counting the  _true_  first trial of starving and exhaustion… Nearly a week."

Kalya could feel Zevran leaning to meet her gaze, but she just kept staring at the far end of the bar. There was a time when she thought her experience at the Spotted Pig had been a blessing. Here, with Alistair. Here, where she'd worked before working for Riordan. If it had set her on  _this_  course, however…

Biting anger suddenly tore unbidden through Kalya. She met Zevran's eyes with a flash of fury. "Just because I'm allowing this small talk doesn't mean we're friends. I'm here out of pure morbid curiosity of what possible explanation you could have to sign me up for this disaster you call a life."

"I deserve all the hatred you would have of me and more, I assure you."

Kalya knew his expression well. It had been a long time since his features had been creased with jokes or true flirtation, but of all the serious expressions he had – and if she could trust her own experience – this was the face of brutal reality. Was this a play for pity, or did he actually loathe himself even more than she did? She didn't know what to believe anymore.

Kalya visibly softened, hiding a squirm of discomfort with another long pull of ale.

"You had a lot to say, so talk. I have training in the morning, which I'm sure is going to be another trial in itself." She rolled her eyes again.

"You're one of us now," Zevran said softly. "They will be respectful." He cleared his throat. "Turk is being… disciplined for his actions. They asked me if I would like to partake in his punishment. I said no, but if you'd like –"

"No!" Kalya blurted out louder than she'd intended. "No."

A small smile crept across Zevran's face. He turned his head at a strange angle, studying her, and opened his mouth to say something, but then swallowed it away.

The silence was broken when Nolan arrived at their table with two hot plates of fish and potatoes, and two more ales. She thanked him quietly and dug in, starving.

She felt Zevran watching her as she ate ravenously. Well, if he wasn't hungry, she'd have his too. Zevran took a few small bites and drew in a deep breath.

"Do you remember a woman who had a small shop on the outskirts of Denerim? I believe she owned a mabari?"

"Yeah, she fucking beat it," she said with a mouth full of potatoes, shoving even more in. "I threatened her life, and she stopped."

"That woman was marked for death by the Crows. More importantly, she had connections with a rival guild. Because of your warning –"

"My  _threat_ ," Kalya corrected, but she stopped eating.

"—she tightened security in her shop. Stopped taking customers into the back room, made her son work the front." He cut a tiny sliver of fish with his fork. "We killed her eventually, but you caused an… inconvenience."

Kalya watched him joylessly shovel the fish into his mouth and swallow hard. She was speechless.

"The price for interference with a Crow mark is death. We had no way of knowing you were just an unlucky vigilante. You could have been on assignment from a rival guild. The contract on your life was signed. We planned to kill you, but… a few days later, you killed a man."

Kalya straightened, shrouding her discomfort with another forkful of food. "Let me guess, one of your marks was a degenerate rapist."

"Close. A degenerate rapist  _Crow_." Zevran tipped his mug to her and gulped it down. "Frowned upon, but it does happen. You caught him on his way out of the Pearl, very drunk, dragging an unwilling participant in lovemaking to a room across the way."

She averted her eyes and continued her meal. The Crow didn't even stick out in her mind. It could have been anyone.

"He wasn't the best we had, but he also wasn't the worst. You slit his throat, and he bled out in the street like a pig."

"Shame," she muttered at her plate.

"Not really. That was what got the Crow's attention. Johann wanted you for his own. Problem was, we only knew you by your leathers, your stature. We didn't even know you were a girl."

"Because I killed a drunk asshole Crow?"

"Crows are surprisingly hard to kill, even the drunk ones. Being killed outside of a battle, outside a contract – it's almost unheard of. We… die on our own terms."

It didn't add up. Kalya gulped her ale, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. "I don't understand. All this was half a year ago. Months before I met you."

Again, Zevran took a deep breath. "You disappeared for a while. I assume this was during your… problem with the drink. They thought you had gone into hiding. Johann sent half a dozen men to Kirkwall looking for you. Crows  _will_  find anyone, but… there were contracts to take and lives to end. We knew we'd find you eventually."

"So they sent  _you_  after me."

"Not quite. Luckily for you, I prefer the company of working women. I saw you at the Pearl, saw the spark of passion and fervor in your eye. You fit the build. A bit smaller, perhaps –"

Kalya scoffed.

"—but more beautiful, as well. When I watched you end another man's life in the alley, I was impressed. Your technique was sloppy, unsteady, but impassioned. I knew it had to be you."

"Aren't you lucky you got to turn me in?" She speared the last stubborn potato.

"I told  _no_  one I'd found you. I wasn't sure even I was right. After all, you were piss drunk on the 3 days a week you left your flat. The Crows you passed on those nights thought you were just another lush. And… they were mostly right."

Kalya squinted at him as she drained the last of her mug. It was her last of the evening, but she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of knowing how much those words stung.

"The night I introduced myself in the Pearl, I knew you were going to do something foolish and dangerous. I wasn't there on Crow business."

It was all too much for her. She slammed the mug on the table and looked Zevran dead in the eye.

"Am I supposed to grovel and thank you for protecting me before you threw me to the wolves? You could have helped me escape! You could have done something –  _anything_  besides what you did!"

"No!" Zevran's fist pounded the table and set Kalya jumping back with a gasp before she could stop herself. "I saved your life! There  _was_  no other way,  _no_  escape. The Crows will  _always_  find you."

Tears no longer threatened to undermine Kalya's strength. After all she'd been through, crying no longer came to her as an emotional response. An unfortunate habit she did pick up, however, was this uncontrollable shaking. Quivering with fear, anger, sadness – any strong reaction that her body had learned to tamp down was converted into sporadic jerks. Zevran's outburst set her shaking like a leaf, and she squirmed in her seat, praying he didn't notice.

He glanced towards the men at the bar, who sheepishly turned back around to their mugs. Leaning over the table, his intensity never dissipated as he spoke. "Without the training I gave you, without the ability to cast off pain or fight attackers by tiring them out, you wouldn't have made it past the first trial – maybe not even the starving and exhaustion, as pickled as you were by alcohol."

Her voice quivered, mouselike. "You could have warned me."

Zevran rocked back in his chair, incredulous. "I offered you training the first night I met you, and you refused.  _Creatore_ , I had to kidnap you for weeks before you came on your own."

"I guess we'll never know how I would have reacted, since I never got the chance."

Zevran's wooden chair snapped back down, his every feature blazing with intensity. "Could I have taken that risk? Huh? If there were even a sliver of a chance you would have run, they would have found you and tortured you just for sport. No trials. Just excruciating, drawn-out death."

After a few moments of silence passed between them, Zevran carded his fingers through the strands of blond hair not bound by his two small braids.

"Believe me," he huffed. "I love to imagine a scenario where I whisked you away from the Crows and we lived safe and warm for the rest of our lives. But that's a fairy tale."

Kalya had nothing left to say. Zevran eyed his leather satchel on the ground by his feet, then kicked it under the table in a motion so smooth, she might have mistaken that it was purposeful. In the quiet, he pushed the plate of half-eaten food away from him.

"I can't save you. Just one more thing I've failed at. But I gave you the  _only_  chance at life you had."

Kalya didn't come here to forgive him – and she hadn't. But the sadness and regret in the elf's eyes, cracking his voice, making him look so unsure in his actions, was unlike any she'd ever seen him exhibit in all their time together. Only Zevran could somehow make  _her_  feel guilty for allowing herself to become recruited as an indentured servant to an assassin's guild.

"It's not so bad," he said finally. "Living amongst the Crows. You can choose your own contracts.  _Braska_ , you can be the Angel Assassin, casting down evil in the world that even the bad guys need murdered."

She suddenly didn't feel very well. Not trusting herself enough to hold her tongue even as the elf looked close to tears, Kalya placed both palms on the edge of the table and scooted her chair away from the table.

"Thank you for dinner," she said, fighting to keep her voice sincere. It was no use. Zevran's face dropped when he saw her edging away from him, but she continued. "Could you tell whoever's tailing me that I don't entirely remember the way back, and not to murder me for going the wrong way?"

"I could take –" he started, but stopped when her eyes began a roll she couldn't stop. "I'm… going that way anyway. Obviously." His eyes fell to his satchel again, but he tore them away and locked her gaze before she had a chance to look away. "Thank you, Kalya. For taking the time to hear me out."

With that, he too rose from the table and laid a few more silvers on the table before lifting his satchel and following Kalya into the cool night air.


	33. The Last Request

No one sat at Kalya's table in the mess hall, and she certainly wasn't complaining. It had been nine days of training, nine days of Zevran sneaking warm food to her quarters, before she figured she'd better quit being a coward and eat with the masses.

In truth, the training hadn't been too bad. The reveille was no earlier than it had been with Riordan or her own practice, nor was it overly difficult. Challenging, yes, but that was only because there were certain techniques you simply couldn't develop alone.

Kalya hated to admit it, but Zevran's training had aptly prepared her for anything the Crows could throw at her. It was just a matter of honing the basics… and hoping her partner didn't decide to throw in a cheap shot. She sensed occasionally that a partner was trying to best her – even in exercises that required cooperation – but that plan was generally abandoned when she outmaneuvered them at their own game, leaving them flat on their backs in the center of the room.

Kalya wasn't the most skilled, but she had stopped dreading waking up in the mornings, so that was a start. It gave her the courage to finally leave her room during mealtimes.

The din of the room was boisterous and kindred, almost relaxing in its chaos. And the smells were like nothing she'd experienced before, even in her rare stints as a serving elf to a noble's mansion.

When she'd gotten food delivered by Zevran, she imagined he'd brought the extent of what was offered, but seeing it in the flesh, there was an astounding buffet of options. It probably wasn't lavish by human standards, but Kalya couldn't stop herself from gaping at the spread. There were servings of fresh vegetables and fruit, and breads fresher than those from street corner bins. Also, the meats were piping hot. That was new.

Still, amongst the merriment and laughter, with bright oranges and pears being tossed to comrades or at unsuspecting targets, she couldn't help but sink under the heavy contrast of sitting all alone. It was just as well, she thought. She just came here to eat.

Someone thunked on the bench next to Kalya as she was finishing her first helping, and she prepared a mask of indifference without even thinking. It was either Zevran or some smart-ass from her lessons, and she wasn't in a mood to make small talk or deflect either option. But her face lit up when she saw Johann smiling beside her.

"I trust our comrades are treating you with respect in your training exercises?" he asked.

"Yes, uh… ser." Did people call him "ser"?

The man looked tickled by the title, but said nothing to correct her.

"They'll eat with you soon enough. It's like this for everyone at first."

She averted her eyes and speared the last of the vegetables with her fork. "It's all right. I eat pretty fast anyway."

Johann chuckled but didn't leave her side. He seemed to be taking stock of the room. A proud papa looking over his collection of groomed assassins. It was almost sweet, if it weren't kind of creepy. The silence between them made her squirm, and she raised an empty mug to her lips just for something to do. Was she supposed to make small talk with  _him_?

Finally, Johann lifted the fat scroll he'd been holding and spread it on the table before him.

"You'll have to excuse me. I  _am_  here on a bit of business."

She eyed him warily.

"Your, ah, Keeper was supposed to have told you, but perhaps he thought it was early still. Every other Mid-Week we have sign-ups for the next round of contracts, if you're not on one already. I trust he's told you that you can choose your path."

Kalya gulped. "Something like that."

Johann's smile was so disarming. She suspected he was quite good at his craft, running on charm alone. Later, she'd have to ask if there was bard training she could partake in.

"Most people just go for the highest payout in their skill range, but something tells me you'll be looking a little more honorable. Am I wrong?"

She laughed nervously. "I guess I'll have to see what there is."

Pushing her tray away to one side, Johann scooted the long scroll before her. Blurbs of text followed by sets of lines scrawled the length of the parchment. The looping letters swam together, and she leaned back sheepishly.

"I, um… I can't…"

"Oh, how presumptuous of me," Johann said. "I'm terribly sorry."

"I can read regular text… mostly. Just not the, uh, swirly ones."

His eyes creased into a warm smile. "It's quite all right. There are others like you." With a wink, he added, "We have classes for this as well."

Johann leaned over the scroll and began reading the blurbs quietly to her, skipping over the ones that seemed above her skill level or called for the killing of good people. A few were one-man jobs, but many had lines for multiple sign-ups. Teamwork killing.

One in particular caught her attention as Johann spoke. Traitors to the late king. Revenge against those who staged the coup that resulted in Alistair's death, scheduled in two days' time. Kalya interrupted him mid-sentence.

"Ah, a popular one," he said, digging his hand in a leather satchel. "Your friend Zevran is on this, as well."

She rolled her eyes when Johann looked down. Oh, well. At least she'd be in competent hands.

"It  _was_  full up," he continued, "but we removed Turk's name. He won't be taking on any more contracts until his legs heal." He shot her a pointed smile, intense and deadly. "And they won't heal for quite some time."

Kalya gulped, but reached for the ink pen when he extended it. There was still room on the line where another name was scratched out. Biting her lip, she hovered over the space, timid.

Johann leaned in and pointed to a large swirling K elsewhere on the parchment. With a nod, she copied the letter shakily on the last line.

Eyes twinkling, the man turned to her, teeth bared into a proud smile. "You always remember your first."

…

The room Kalya had been assigned was by far the nicest living quarters she'd ever had in her life. A decadent fluffy bed with silken sheets was situated in one corner. In the other was a sitting area with a modest bookshelf she couldn't use, but the thrill of someday reading a leather-bound tome in that overstuffed chair like some noble filled her with a distant hope she couldn't quiet as much as she tried.

The wall connecting to the door was adorned with blades of varying lengths – and they weren't just for display. She'd removed a few from their brackets, tested their weight, and flung them end-over-end into her wooden bedframe. They sunk in deep with a satisfying reverberation.

A waist-high dresser came pre-filled with casual wear, night clothes, smalls, and two sets of black leathers, fit perfectly in her size. Creepy and amazing.

Kalya had just returned from dinner and settled into the overstuffed chair to remove her boots when there was a knock at the door.  _Shit._  She knew who it was.

Opening the door sheepishly, she saw Zevran standing outside with a weak grin and an overflowing tray in his hands. She backed up to let him in, and it wasn't until he crossed the room that she noticed how drastically different he looked. His leathers hung loosely around his already slim figure, cheeks gaunt, eyes unfocused and distant. He looked so pitiful that, for the first time in weeks, the sight of him didn't infuriate her. It just kind of broke her heart.

"Ugh, I'm sorry, Zevran. I… finally broke down and ate in the mess hall."

He turned, tray still in hand, forcing a proud smile. "That's great. I trust everyone was civil?"

"Yeah, yeah, it was fine.  _You_  eat it. You look… You should have it."

He spun back around, headed for the dresser with a chuckle. "I know your appetite. If I leave it here, it will go to good use."

A moment of silence passed between them, and Kalya scrambled to fill it with anything. "I'm on the Fereldan Traitors Contract. Lucky you, huh?"

The tray dropped from Zevran's hands. Only half a meter above the drawers, the food survived, but the goblet of water overturned and shattered on the floor. A breath escaped his lips as if he'd been socked in the gut.

Kalya jumped to her feet. "What in the Void, Zevran?!"

He didn't turn around, but Kalya could see his hand trembling. "You're not taking that contract. Sign-ups are closed."

There was no way Kalya was running back to Johann to renege on her first contract like some meek child with second thoughts.

"They took Turk off it." She took a step towards him, but hesitated in her instinct to reach out and spin him around to face her. " _You're_  on it. What's the problem? I'm not good enough to help you kill a fucking coward?"

When he finally turned to her, his eyes were coated in wetness. Zevran made no attempt to conceal his emotion, his gaze boring into her, unyielding.

He spoke slowly, forming each word with a ferocity that sent a shiver down her spine. "It's above your skill level."

All Kalya could do was shake her head with an incredulous shrug. Now she  _felt_  like a child, begging her father to let her play with the big kids.

"I assume that's why they're sending 15 assassins. Zevran, what the fuck is wrong with you?"

The instant she said it, she regretted it. In a blink, he closed the space between them, panther-like. She winced reflexively, ready for his strike to land. But he clapped his arms around her suddenly, squeezing tight.

Too concerned to move, Kalya stood there as he steadied his breathing into her shoulder. His grip on her was desperate, as if anchoring her from flying away. After a few too-long moments, he pulled back, eyes still unabashedly wet, but his face set solid.

"You should take a different contract."

Kalya's shoulders sank. Whatever had gotten into him was crushing to defy, but she had no other choice.

"I can't look weak on my first assignment, Zev. I  _want_  to be there when the bastard who killed the king dies. And  _you'll_  be there. I don't… see what the problem is. If you don't trust me –"

"This is not about you."

"Well, then what is it?"

Zevran let go suddenly and brushed past her, tenuous as a ghost, leaving her gaping alone in the room as the door drifted closed. When he was far enough down the hall, she collapsed backwards on her bed. Wasn't this what he wanted? For them to talk, back and forth? For her to be so disarmed by his… whatever that was that she forgot to be pissed at him?

A knock at her door made her jump, and she bolted upright. She tore the door open ready to plead for an answer, only to find a human woman in mage robes with a bemused half-smile. Kalya recognized her from the trials, and from her training in the past weeks – Jez, was it? One of the few partners she'd had who  _didn't_  take cheap shots on her. Had her name been on the scroll for the same assignment?

Kalya blanched. "Sorry, uh. Sorry. I thought you were someone else."

"Don't let me stop you. I could hunt her down free of charge." She held up a long, dark bottle by the neck. "But I thought this might be more fun."

…

Zevran loped into his quarters and shut the door, locking it. Slowly, he lowered himself onto his bed and looked around his now-sparse room.

Living as an assassin meant always travelling light – one of the many rules Zevran relished breaking. He could pack efficiently enough, which allowed him to bring his collection of small sentimental items everywhere he went. When he knew he would be bedding down somewhere for any amount of time, he savored unpacking his assortment of silks, jewelry, and statuettes, vials and tinctures, for everything from healing to cooking to lovemaking. His colorful assemblage had adorned his quarters here at the Denerim Crows' Guild until nearly a week ago.

Now his room was bare, a shell of the warm, rich abode it had been. He'd slowly given away, or trashed, every item that meant anything to him in this world… except one.

Anyone who knew him well – which unfortunately was only Johann at this point, and even then just barely – should have taken the drastic change to be a warning sign. A cry for help, or at least a hint at what was to come.

His leather satchel remained near his pillow where he had laid it earlier in the day, and he lazily rummaged through his remaining change of armor to find them. A single pair of soft Antivan leather gloves. It had been his intention to give them to Kalya. A parting gift of sorts.

During their evening at the Spotted Pig, the opportunity hadn't presented itself. She had been too angry, and he had been too… unworthy. Since then, the time had never seemed right. He wouldn't deliver them with her meals. Foolish as it was, he had wanted it to mean something.

_Creatore_ , Kalya reminded him of her. Her savage stubbornness, her skill with daggers. Her justice for the innocent, and her ruthlessness for those who had wronged her. Except for the one who wronged her the most, who had cost Rinna her own life. Well, he'd be taking care of that for her soon enough.

Unfortunately, with her same stubbornness, he knew Kalya could never be talked out of giving up her very first contract. As senior ranking Crow, Zevran had been privy to more information on the marks, and Johann filled him in the night he signed over his name. Cowardly traitors or not, the marks were a pair of Grey Wardens, preternaturally skilled with strength and stamina most could only dream of. A worthy end indeed, and one no one would ever expect with Zevran's skill level.

Now he was leading his last true friend – even if the sentiment was one-sided – on her own Death March. And there was nothing he could do to stop it. Just another failure in his wasted life.

Staring straight ahead, focusing on nothing, he let out a long, slow breath. Arms heavy, he reached up to undo the small braids beside his ears, long fingers running through the crinkled strands.

The course was set. There was nothing to do now but hope. Hope his teachings had been enough, hope she saw enough of the signs to know to run, hope that she wasn't foolish enough to abandon the Crows while the rest of them were slaughtered.

Zevran's chest suddenly felt heavy, constricted. It was as if an inhuman density were weighing it down, burrowing into his lungs and stifling the air around him.

He needed to get out of here. And he needed a drink.


	34. Ancient History

"2! 3! 4!"

Pitcher of ale tipped back in one hand, the other high in the air, Kalya needed to concentrate. But the sight of Zevran walking into the Pearl was the last thing she expected… That is, the last thing she expected after a tavern full of near-strangers surrounding her and chanting her on.

When he slipped cat-like into his usual booth, she squeezed her eyes shut and concentrated on the task at hand.

"7! 8! 9!"

With her last swallow, she jerked her hand down to signify she was done, and opened her mouth wide as proof. The crowd of Crows and assorted drunks went wild, slapping her back hard enough to make her dizzy. Or maybe that was the ale.

A tavern singer who had silenced for the spectacle struck up a well-known tune, and half the revelers joined in. After an exaggerated bow and a nod to Jez that she'd be back in a second, Kalya started making her way to the booth at the front of the Pearl, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

When Jez had first led her into the dark, labyrinthine corridors outside her quarters, Kalya wasn't sure what to expect. At the threshold of the base, they met up with a crowd of young Crows stealing away in the night, and all she could think of was what Zevran would say. Would he chastise her for being so cavalier with the rules, or urge her to make friends with them? They probably wouldn't be killed for sneaking out if the people  _doing_  the killing were coming along too, right?

On the walk over, Jez introduced Kalya to a demure elven man with blond hair, and the two had spent every moment since they'd walked into the Pearl necking at the table nearest the bar. It was an informative walk. Travella, Kalya learned, had been in love with the dwarf Ostan whom she'd murdered – in self-defense! – in the first trial. Now inside the tavern, she had seemingly already moved past the loss and was flirting with a dark-skinned pirate with a necklace of gold in the tavern's dark corner.

With ale flowing and adrenaline coursing, the Crows were positively debaucherous. And the sentiment was catching, mostly. Kalya didn't have to be happy being a Crow, but for one night, she could drink to forget. Drink with them, drink  _near_  them – what's the difference?

Deep down, she was doubly grateful Zevran had shown. One because he had really looked like he needed it, and two, well… there was nothing more excruciating than the gauntlet of introductory chatter that came with being accepted as one of the Crows' own. Yes, she had come from Denerim's Alienage. No, she'd never been to Kirkwall, but she had lived in Highever. No, she  _wouldn't_  consider training with a bow. Zev was at least good for a distraction, and she didn't need to forgive him to get that. If anything, he  _owed_  it to her.

"Impressive," Zevran said with a smirk.

"Yeah, well, it's the only way to interact without actually talking."

As Kalya slid into the booth, the same barkeep who had always served them stopped in front of their table.

Hell, this was a special occasion, wasn't it? "A bottle of Rivaini Spice," she said.

"And a Dwarven ale,  _per cortesia_."

Impressed, Kalya quirked an eyebrow as the barkeep scurried off. "Party."

"I'll leave the Rivaini Spice to you."

"Oh, you're  _doing_  a shot."

His eyes narrowed, but the sparkle within them retained a fraction of his former jocularity. "How much have you had?"

"Just a few ales… and half a bottle of wine on the walk over here with everyone."

He looked surprised. She couldn't blame him. Two days ago, she couldn't tell if no one knew she existed or everyone wanted her dead, and she couldn't decide which one she preferred. Now, she was invited to unauthorized tavern parties?

"What's the celebration?"

"Well,  _they're_  all excited about the big mark and the bigger payout. And you think we're all gonna die, so I figured, why not live up one last night of poor decisions?"

A loud whoop rose from the revelers trying – and failing – to beat Kalya's chugging time. A groan of good-natured disapproval echoed through the ranks while the swaying half-lidded loser ordered up another pitcher.

"I'm glad to see you out tonight," she said. "I thought –"

The barkeep interrupted her by returning to their table with a large round tray. He set the ale in front of Zevran first, then a fat bottle in front of Kalya, two small tumblers, a shaker of salt, and a ramekin of limes.

Zevran cast a suspicious look at the spread laid before them.

"You've never had Rivaini Spice," she stated in disbelief.

"I've made it a point not to."

"Well, tonight's your lucky night, my friend."

Zevran winced. Maybe the alcohol had loosened her tongue more than she'd thought, calling him a friend. Pretending to ignore his reaction, she uncorked the bottle and got to work.

He took a gulp of ale as she poured amber liquid into the wide tumbler nearest him all the way to the top, hers only halfway.

"Double for you, so you can catch up to me."

He sat his mug down. "You know, you're not supposed to mix alcohols."

"That's just what weak people say."

Zevran snorted. "Tell me the same tomorrow morning."

She raised an eyebrow towards the table, unsure if he had meant the implied intimacy, or if it were just a turn of phrase.

He cleared his throat. "I just meant –"

"Let's not make this weird. Here." She scooted the tumbler closer to him with a slosh. "Watch me."

With earnest precision, from which only the slightest flirtation could be inferred, Kalya licked a small area on the back of her hand and shook salt over it. Zevran followed suit. Then, picking up her glass with one hand, she grasped a sliver of lime in the other.

"Lick, shoot, suck. Okay?"

He nodded. She looped her arm around his, and in one fluid motion, they both leaned in to lick their salted hands. Faces just centimeters apart, they tossed the shot back and shoved the sour lime into their mouths. It hurt, but not as much as the spice now burning its way down her throat. Zevran was better at hiding his grimace than she was.

"Look at the pro over here," Kalya said, sticking her tongue out far enough to maybe get the taste off. It didn't work.

"Sometimes you need the burn."

"From your mouth to the Maker's ears." She began pouring another round – again, full for him, half for her.

After a gulp of ale as a chaser, he sat the mug down, studying her. She knew the look in his eye from training for the Drunken Orlesian. He had always been straightforward with her, but he'd also had decorum. This expression was incoming candor only brought about by liquid courage. His sudden weight loss was making him a cheap… drinking partner.

"Am I not supposed to mention how odd this situation is?" His tone was not accusatory. Face masked in genuine curiosity, the quiver at the edge of his lips betrayed a hint of sadness. "You and I, drinking like old friends – like friends at all?"

"Oh, I still hate your guts," she said, downing her own shot in self-defense, and immediately regretting not licking salt first. She shoved a lime into her mouth. "But," she choked, "I respect you. Respect lasts longer."

"I think you underestimate your own ability to hold a grudge."

"Yeah, well, what do you want? You're also fucking hot."

" _You're_  fucking drunk," he said with a shy smile, the Antivan trill on his R's becoming more exaggerated.

She scrunched her lips to one side, shooting him an accusatory look to make it clear she'd noticed his tell. "And you  _were_  my first friend here. People can hate their friends."

She uncorked the bottle again and refilled her own glass, a little less than half full. Maybe. Her vision was getting all squirmy.

Salting her hand again, she suddenly looked up at him with a strange expression.

"What's different about you?"

He ran his hands through unbound hair by his ears.

Kalya's mouth dropped, incredulous. "Those braids come out?! I didn't know they came out!"

That got the first chuckle she'd heard from him in weeks. In the back of her mind, she wasn't sure why she had missed it so much. He  _had_  ruined her life, and she would never forget nor forgive that. But she could miss the sound of his laugh. So what?

Zevran took a long pull from his mug.

"Do another shot with me," she said.

He held up the empty mug and turned it over, letting a few drips fall out.

"Not the same."

"Kalya, I don't know how many more of these I can do." He eyed the tumbler. "They're huge."

"Just one more after this."

" _One more_?" he repeated, eyebrows raised.

"Maybe two."

He pressed his lips into a hard line.

"Okay, okay, one more after this." Kalya raised up her hands.

"And I do it alone," he said. "So you don't die tomorrow."

"Right, I just die two days from now, on the contract."

Zevran ignored her and salted his hand. A moment later, he wrapped his arm around hers. Again, they leaned in, face to face, licked the salt, and shot the spicy spirit, quenching its assault with a lime to finish.

Again, Zevran recovered quickly, nodding to the near-empty bottle.

"After this next, we can just talk? Like friends?" He slammed back in his chair heavily, searching the ground around his feet.

"Are you… looking for more friends?"

"No, I… thought I might have brought my satchel."

Kalya peered down and shrugged.

"After this, we'll talk," she echoed. "About absolutely nothing important." Her words might have been slurring way more than she intended, which set Zevran off giggling again, despite the sadness still in his eyes.

"If you  _can_  talk."

"Don't you worry about me, Arainai." She poked a finger into his chest as he uncorked the bottle himself and unsteadily poured his last shot. He didn't pull up fast enough, and the glass overflowed a bit onto the table.

He blew out a heavy sigh that only comes with the onset of drunkenness. "I am not as good at this as you are."

Zevran was lifting the tumbler towards his lips when Kalya jutted an arm out to stop him. "You're forgetting the salt!"

With unbelievable smoothness, Zevran gently grasped her hand, bringing it to his lips as if he were about to kiss it. Instead, he dragged his tongue slowly across the back of it, sending a shiver down Kalya's spine. He salted the area with a guilty smirk.

"It  _is_  better doing this with another."

Without breaking eye contact, Zevran softly sucked the salt from her hand and brought the glass to his lips, drinking the liquid in. She watched him, breathless, as he rolled it over his tongue, swallowing it down in one gulp. A mischievous notion fluttered through her, and she snatched a lime from the pile and placed it between her teeth.

Zevran licked the spirits from his lips and all but leapt over the table, pushing the fruit aside to crush his mouth against hers. With a soft moan, Kalya cradled his face in her hands. She raked her nails softly upwards, through his unbraided hair, clenching it into a bunch at his nape with a tight jerk. A guttural groan reverberated against her mouth, and Zevran delved his tongue deeper. Were his lips this soft last time? How could she have forgotten something that felt like this?

Glasses were tipped to their sides as he climbed over the table, passionate and frantic as teenagers. He cupped her ears in his hands and tweaked gently at their tips, driving Kalya wild with a moan probably inappropriate for public. She suddenly couldn't touch enough of him or envelop him tightly enough, massaging her hands over his soft leathers and then back up to grasp the sides of his face.

His own hands slid down her slender neck and into the leathers at her clavicle, as if he could undress her from the top-down right there. Fortunately for onlookers – or unfortunately, since this was the Pearl – he could not.

When a knee thrust upon the table sent a tumbler shattering on the ground, Zevran finally pulled back from her, to a crowd of Crows applauding the two of them.

They spoke over each other. "Sorry about –" he began.

"Maybe we should…" She couldn't quiet her mischievous smile. "Yeah."

Kalya leapt out of the booth and bee-lined for the bar, dragging Zevran by the wrist. The man who'd served them was poorly concealing a smirk as she approached. All Kalya had to do was make a dangling motion with one hand, and he reached under the bar. With a wink, the barkeep handed over a key attached to a wooden diamond grooved with the number 5.

"He's paying," Kalya shouted over one shoulder, and led Zevran stumbling over his own feet down the dark corridor, to another wave of whooping and hollering from their comrades-in-arms.

This was a terrible idea. The thought of how terrible it was – and how badly she needed it – sent a surge of blood southwards with a heady blast of arousal as she spilled into the dimly lit room.

All the accommodations in the Pearl looked similar. The small sitting room, where Kalya had killed Michel and his soldiers, connected to a small hallway on one side that led into the bedroom. A lantern lit their surroundings with a dancing flame.

Zevran closed the door behind them, and with sultry bite on her bottom lip, Kalya reached around his backside to engage the lock. When she pressed him against the door in another deep kiss, something inside him must have snapped. He suddenly ducked out of the way, shaking his head furiously.

"No, no, no. I'm so sorry. Kalla – Kalya…" He carded an unsteady hand through his hair, gulping hard as if trying to swallow away his drunkenness. "We can't – this isn't – I can't do this."

"What?" Her jaw dropped. "Why?!"

He just stood there shaking his head furiously, eyes glued to the ground. The rapid succession of shots was catching up to him fast. When he fell back against the door, dizzy, Kalya thrust a hand behind his head to keep it from ricocheting.

"You're drunk. You hate me. This isn't right."

" _I_  brought you in here!"

"Yes, and tomorrow you'll wish you hadn't."

Anger heated her face with a flush. "Why don't you let me make my own decisions? It'll be a first."

The control she'd had over him in the tavern had invigorated her. Being under the Crows' thumb, even though she was  _now_  treated respectfully, she hadn't realized how sorely she'd missed having agency of her own.

The loss of her apartment, of all her belongings, of her future and life's plan had left her empty. On more than one sleepless night, she'd fantasized about marching into Zevran's quarters and demanding he satisfy her the way he'd done that night so many months ago just to have something that was her own, even for a moment.

Fair, the alcohol had helped tonight, but she'd  _wanted_  this power over him. Could pleasuring each other  _only_  come after some awkward conversation? It was easier this way.

"Kalla, this – we – Maker damn it, I can't put the right words together, but it's all wrong." He couldn't have known "Kalla" was her childhood nickname. In his slurring, he probably didn't even realize he had gotten it wrong, but it sent a pang of hurt through her chest all the same.

"What's it mean?" he continued, tongue thick in his mouth. "Tomorrow, do we go back to friends, or do you hate me again, and we pretend this never happened?"

"Why does it have to mean something? Zevran, the great Antivan lover, needs significance out of every woman he beds?"

Massaging his fingers into his eyes, he opened his mouth to say something, then quieted it with a sigh of frustration. "If it means nothing to you, then why me? Huh? There's 30 good-looking Crows out there right now."

That did it. If he wanted honesty, she'd give it to him.

"Do you know what was going through my mind when Turk was… during Turk's trial?"

Zevran dropped his hands and lifted sad eyes to hers.

"I was thinking about how I'd never be able to be – I'd never trust anyone new again, like that, or at least for a really long time."

She took a step towards him.

"I trust you. In here, I trust you. I know you're a good man, in your… way, and that's why you're doing this. But do you know how long it's been since I felt a moment of happiness, of distraction, of being in control? Even if it's fleeting?"

Kalya gestured towards the bedroom. "So unless  _you_  don't want to do this…"

"I… It's  _you_." It could have been a laugh of incredulousness Zevran blew out. "I  _want_  to."

"Then can't we just forget everything for a while? You're the one who thinks we're all about to die. Don't you want to… feel really good?"

A soft sigh and a nod was all he allowed himself. Suddenly unsteady from the movement, Zevran shot a hand out to the small serving table with a gulp. Kalya let out a light chuckle.

"We should try this sober sometime," she said.

Zevran rubbed the back of his neck, keeping his eyes on the floor, and allowed himself a sad smile. "Some day."

She took a step towards him. "So?"

"Just one more thing." His eyes finally met hers. "You're not doing this because you feel… This isn't because of earlier, in your quarters, is it?"

Kalya cracked a crooked smile. "You think too much, Zev. Can't this just be…" She could have said a million things in that moment.  _Can't this just be because of how badly I need it? Because we respect each other and it's fun and why not?_

But she didn't. "Can't this just be nothing?"

Zevran's face fell, but he righted his mask of flirtation in an instant. Kalya wished against everything that she could have taken it back, but he closed his eyes with a grin and bowed his head.

After a moment of silence between them, the darkness of desire returned to his heavy-lidded eyes. "What now?"

She let out a breath of relief. "Taking your pants off would be a start."


	35. Correspondence Interruptus

Kalya captured Zevran's mouth in hers and steered him backward towards the bedroom. Fingers frantically untying the laces on his leather jerkin, she had to grasp into his midsection every few moments when he nearly stumbled into the wall. She lifted it over his head, and he pitched forward, knocking her into the narrow hallway. His arousal poked hard into her leg, rock solid and quirking upwards.

As they shuffled, Zevran, too, sloppily worked the buckles on Kalya's breeches until the back of his legs crashed into the soft bed. The moment he had a few centimeters of room, he slid his strong hands down the back, cupping her ass before shucking them down around her ankles. Kalya lifted her soft tunic over her head and slowly unraveled her breast band.

There was something Kalya hadn't been able to get out of her mind, after that night so many months ago, when Zevran had pleasured her so completely, without want for reimbursement. The thought of taking him in her mouth and pleasuring him roughly filled her with carnal longing. With a hard shove, Zevran fell backwards onto the bed. Heavy-lidded want widened into surprise when she sunk to her knees rather than crawling over him.

His shaft in her hands was every bit as silky and long as she remembered. He hadn't the girth of others she'd been with, but a sigh escaped her lips as she wrapped both hands around the base, imaging him pounding as deep into her as he could go.

"Kalla, you don't…" he started, gaping down at her. "I assumed we would just…"

"You don't want me to pleasure you with my mouth?" With a squeeze, she exhaled a hot breath just millimeters away from his sensitive head.

A guttural groan set his eyes rolling back in his head. "I do,  _Creatore_ , I do. I-If you want to, uhn…" He sucked in a hiss of air between his teeth as she slowly began pumping. "It's nothing. Never mind."

_Good_. Kalya coated his length with wetness. Equal parts steel and velvet, it trembled and danced as she circled her tongue underneath the ridge at the very tip. When she finally sunk around him, it was clear there was no way she was going to take his full length in her tiny mouth. She grasped the base and twisted firmly, a motion that rent Zevran's shoulders up from the bed.

Curling her lips under her teeth for a barrier of protection, she was able to drag along him tightly, hollowing her cheeks as she went. The keening moans escaping Zevran's lips soaked Kalya to her core, and she itched to snake a hand between her legs, but she would take pleasure soon enough.

She continued a tantalizingly slow pace, moving him further into her mouth bit by bit. As his whimpering moans grew, she began pumping more frantically, raking her other hand savagely along his taut stomach and chest.

Zevran suddenly popped his head off the bed, cupping her cheek gently to still her.

"Should we –" He gulped midsentence. "I don't know if I can hold it."

Kalya slid him out of her mouth with a soft shake of her head.

"Don't come," she said, panting.

He fell back on the bed with a soft whine.

Kalya continued up and down his length, working her hands sometimes in tandem, sometimes in opposing circular motions, round and around his girth. Zev had begun gripping the bed sheets desperately, eyes squeezed shut, and muttering a litany in Antivan between urgent whimpers. In the heady haze of passion and inebriation, she enjoyed inflicting the elf with torturous pangs of desire.

Her every move had the power to set him trembling or begging for more. The dominance she exuded over him was almost as intoxicating as the drink.

When she was nearly certain he'd had enough, she pulled her head back and rose from her knees, slowly crawling over him on all fours.

There was lightness in his eyes she hadn't seen in weeks. Gratitude, eagerness, and a spark of mischief played on his features. He drank in the sight of her body hovering over his as a man in the desert looks upon cool water.

For a moment, he seemed hesitant to reach out to her, feeling out the limits of her game, but he forged ahead and grasped her sides with soft urgency. Kalya caught on and shook her head. Locking his torso between her knees to slow any thrusting, she grabbed his hands at the wrists and pinned them over his head. A quick look left and right confirmed her suspicion that there was really nothing with which to secure someone to the bedpost, even in the Pearl.

"I'm not gonna be able to keep you pinned," she said.

"I'll be good." Zevran clutched onto the headboard's posts with both hands.

Kalya slid her hands down his arms, pressing into the lean muscles protruding from his sides. He sucked in another breath as her fingertips massaged deep into his flesh.

"Will you kiss me?" His question was so earnest, so hopeful. Kalya dipped her mouth to his and sank into supple softness. She wanted in deeper, and he parted his lips with a groan. Running her tongue slowly along the insides of his mouth, she could taste him completely – the hint of spice from the spirits mingled with another zest that brought her back to their first night together. Breathing him in was all cinnamon and leather and sweat, and the aroma unlocked a pooling hunger that could only be sated with passion and roughness. But not yet.

Zevran's tongue intertwined with hers just for a moment, but she drew back to rub up against his insistent erection. He bucked his hips up to hers, but without hands to guide himself, he missed his mark. Kalya clucked her tongue in warning.

"No hips either," she said. Zevran groaned but acquiesced, lowering back onto the bed. Eyes wide and pleading, he relished the sight of Kalya grinding her tight bundle of nerves along his throbbing length.

Kalya slid forward to let him poke tight through her thighs. Swirling tantalizingly on the taut mound of his pelvis, heat rose from her belly to her chest. The tightness within was becoming nearly unbearable. She needed to be penetrated, but she wanted to draw this out. The sweetest form of punishment.

A throaty moan escaped her lips, and Zevran could no longer remain silent.

"Watching you pleasure yourself on me is…" He spoke a word in Antivan, panting, and groaned again. "…ethereal." His arm muscles tensed gripping the bedposts, itching to wrap around her. "Every curve of your body... Your sublime beauty… I curse every moment I've blinked in your presence,  _mi bella_."

Whether she took pity on the elf or simply needed to be satiated herself, she leaned back and tucked a finger under his chin.

"Which would you rather have back: your hands or your hips?"

"My hands," he panted. "Please,  _mi amore_. I need to caress your skin."

"Your hips then." Kalya smirked.

He blew out a breath of mock frustration and bucked upwards against her, but she was too quick. With every thrust, she danced just out of the way, allowing only the very tip of his length to kiss her slippery folds, just enough to drive him wild.

Zevran's moans turned into animalistic growls underneath his smirk. White knuckles shook the bedposts, and for a moment, Kalya was afraid he would burst through them.

"All right, you can use your hands," Kalya said.

She half-expected he would grab her by the hips and stuff himself into her, and with a wild surge of heat, she half-hoped it. But for all the fervor Zevran had pent up, his subsequent soft grasp on her breast with one hand, brushing her cheek with the other was maddeningly sweet.

From her cheek, he brushed upward to tease the tip of one ear before his hand joined the other, cupping both breasts with an adolescent smirk. Sliding further south to land on her hips, a more serious hunger overtook his expression. Zevran wet his lips with a dart of his tongue. His fingertips dug into her hips as if they were handlebars, shivering with anticipation.

"May I?" he asked.

Kalya nodded, wanting nothing but to be quenched, to be stretched, filled with him completely.

With a rough tug of his hands, she sank around him. Her vision swam as elation bubbled up inside her. Then her body took over. She bounced along his length, relishing the pop of his head against her folds at the very peak of her stroke before crashing back down with a moan.

A string of Antivan again escaped from Zevran that sounded like pleading, praying. He squeezed his eyes shut and shuddered beneath her. For the first time in months, Kalya's mind was blissfully blank. She rode him, at last in complete control, aware only of the pulsating need to tip herself into release.

Zevran's supplication quickly changed to urgent, keening moans.

"Kalya, I… I don't think,  _uhn…_ " His eyes squeezed tighter, but it was no use. She felt his stiffness shudder within her. A snarl rippled from him as he spent himself completely.

She kept pumping along his oversensitive cock, half as punishment, half in a last, desperate attempt to give way to her own oblivion. It didn't work. She wasn't close enough.

Zevran's arousal grew soft within her, and she slowed her movements. His eyes finally popped open. Guilt creased his brow, but only for a moment. He blew out a shuddering breath as she lifted off and collapsed next to him.

Kalya couldn't help but feel a little disappointed, but she could finish herself off as she had nearly always done. Zevran popped up onto one arm and shot her a sheepish smile.

"Give me five… to seven minutes." With a wink, he slid down the bed, stopping right at her hot core. He wriggled between her legs and spread her roughly with both hands, lowering his mouth onto her.

Kalya's instinct was to scramble up the bed, but she just jumped with surprise, wrapping her arms around her body.

"Zevran!"

He slowly dragged a tongue over her full bundle of nerves, then met her eyes with feigned innocence.

"Do you not wish me to pleasure you?"

"I  _do_ , but… you just… It's gross." She bit her lip. "Isn't it?"

His mischievous grin seemed to twinkle in the candlelight. "If you wish me to stop, I will, but I believe you are owed some gratification."

Kalya slowly brought her arms to her sides.

"It's my own fault," he continued, slurring still but with sudden energy, "for overindulging and… finishing like an adolescent. But I'll share the blame with you for being so mind-numbingly ravishing."

His eyebrows quirked at her silence, still looking for an answer.

Kalya  _did_  feel empty of him, with the ghost of an itch within that hadn't been thoroughly scratched. She nodded, and he dipped his head again towards her sex, suckling along her sensitive folds. One hand slid up her leg and found its way to her throbbing pearl. With the other, Zevran maneuvered two fingers deep within her. Not deep enough to finish, but enough to plunge that ravenous pool of heat back into her stomach and set her shuddering beneath him.

Her motions spurned Zevran on, and he picked up his pace, frantically licking and massaging her in rapturous rhythm. He flexed and curled his fingers within until she whimpered his name and raked a hand through his soft blond hair. He continued his urgent movements for a few more minutes, until he popped his head up with a huge smile.

"Okay," he said, panting. "May I take you again?"

All Kalya could do was nod, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth.

"Flip over onto your stomach."

Her eyes widened. Zev leaned forward and grabbed a pillow from the head of the bed.

"Put this beneath your stomach." His soft hand raked over her torso. " _Or_  you can stay up on all fours."

"I… I don't… I won't be able to see you."

Zevran's mouth turned down in mock disappointment. "Yes, that is the give-and-take. Unless…"

He grasped her hand in his. Near boneless, she all but fell out of bed until Zevran steadied her and led her out of the bedroom. For a mad moment, she was concerned they were headed out the door, but he stopped in the sitting room.

An overstuffed chair near a serving table was positioned before a great circular mirror. Zev pulled out the chair and spun it around, its back facing her.

Gooseflesh prickled up as his nails grazed along the length of her spine. He leaned in and ghosted a whisper into her ear. " _Per cortesia_ , bend over the chair,  _mi amore_."

Kalya pressed onto the chair soft chair, locking eyes with Zevran his mirror reflection. He placed a bracing hand on her shoulder, and she raised her ass as an invitation. When he crashed into her, she screamed out in ecstasy.

Arms wrapped around the fat chair, she held on for dear life while Zevran bucked deliciously against her. In the mirror, she watched bliss overtaking him. His eyes rolled back as he buried himself inside her to the very hilt. Already slick with arousal from before, at this angle, she was positively gushing around him. He certainly noticed, allowing a guttural chuckle before sinking his teeth into the back of her neck.

That was all it took.

With a savage cry, Kalya tipped into bliss. Ecstasy radiated from her core through each of her limbs, flowing over her in waves and shuddering her tiny frame. In the far recesses of her perception, she was aware of Zevran steadying her over the fluffy chair. He dipped his face into the crook of her neck, trailing urgent kisses along her shoulder until he snapped his hips one last time, trembling with euphoria.

After several moments, when the undulating rapture subsided, the two stumbled arm in arm back to the bedroom and collapsed atop the sheets.

Zevran traced a fingertip along Kalya's back in the hazy, post-coital heat. Moments before exhaustion set in, her last waking awareness was of Zevran whispering something to her. She nuzzled the pillow underneath her head, wanting for quiet without finding the words. He continued, his lilting tone melodic under his foreign tongue. It was something in Antivan, something honest and private. Not a prayer this time, because at the very end, she could just barely make out the murmur of her name.


	36. Caravan Down

Jostling roughly in a cramped caravan would have soured the moods of any travelers, but thirteen antsy Crows in tight quarters – and two up front with the horses – made for an uncomfortable trip, even with the promise of a high payout just days away.

After their night at the Pearl, Zevran had spilled out of bed right at sunrise. Digging into his eyes with the heels of his hands, he muttered something about needing to meet with the contract's client later that morning. Then, he rounded the corner too sharply and slammed his shoulder hard into the wood-lined wall. Even worse than the rapid succession of shots, he'd drunk much more than Kalya, likely without having eaten. He had to be hurting.

When Zev had gathered his pants in the next room, Kalya heard him hesitate a moment. The floorboards betrayed his movements back to the bedroom, but before he could creak back around the corner, she rolled over and squeezed her eyes shut. He left the room without so much as another word.

The trip west with the Crows had taken longer than expected. Their marks were on the move, and the caravan received communications of their recent positions at every small town they passed through.

Zevran had shared nearly nothing about the task with the group, much to the grumbling of the younger Crows. The older career assassins kept their mouths shut, sharpening their weapons around the fires at night without so much as a grunt to the others. Kalya had taken a hint from them, silenced partly by nerves and partly by excitement of her first assignment.

When they'd worked through their food reserves, days were spent hunting and trading off cooking duty, the latter of which Kalya abhorred, relegating herself to plucking, prep work, and extra hunting shifts. They occasionally had to fight off a desperate gang of bandits foolish enough to attack Crows, but the savagery they brought upon outsiders only served to sharpen their excitement.

Thankfully, in the rare chances he could have, Zevran never spoke about their night together. Even so, on more than one occasion, as they jostled over the rocky terrain of the West Road, she caught him staring at her from across the caravan right before blinking away.

After a little over a week on the road, Kalya noticed a change in Zevran. They'd stopped at a town for supplies, and a child with a black band around his arm furtively handed Zev a missive when he thought no one looked on.

That night at camp, the fire glowing through her tent's thin canvas awoke her, and she shuffled to her feet, set to extinguish it. When she opened the flaps, she saw Zevran hunched on the stump of a tree, hands raked through his hair, staring out into nothingness. Part of her itched to join his side, to talk, to something, to help dissipate whatever burden furrowed his brow, but what would she possibly say? She closed the tent flap and silently returned to her bedroll.

Zevran rose before everyone, too. At mealtimes, he rarely left the spread of maps and dossiers positioned throughout his tent every time they made camp, waving away anyone who brought him his rations.

Finally, on the road a few days later, Zevran peered through the caravan's back flap and shouted for the drivers to slow. He hopped out the back and navigated the wagon's position into the crook of a crescent-shaped outcropping of hills before calling the rest of the Crows out to join him.

Under his direction, the group unpacked the empty crates they'd been sitting on and situated them messily around the half-valley. Then, as delicately as they could, they overturned the caravan, so the soft top butted up against the sheer rock face of the southernmost cliff walls. The wooden bottom faced outwards, with only the very back of the caravan accessible through the now-sideways flap.

The sun beat down from its highest point in the sky as they worked, a rare day of comfortable weather in Ferelden made uncomfortably sweaty by manual labor. But the thrill of something finally happening buzzed through the air as if it were electrified. When Zevran was satisfied with the stage set before him, he gathered the Crows before him, their energy nearly at its bursting point.

For the moment, hands on his hips and chest held high, he almost looked like he used to, when he would task Kalya in empty warehouses with her next hit. Commanding, confident. She supposed having so many masks at one's disposal was an essential element for living so long as an assassin.

"Our marks are to arrive within the next several hours," he began. "We got word a few days ago that they're joined by some civilian companions. Able to elude us this far, they likely have a bard in their midst, but nothing Crows can't handle."

Some of the Crows exchanged knowing smirks. A dwarven man stepped forward, shielding his eyes from the sun. "'Civilian'? Are the traitors military?"

"The dossiers had this as 'need-to-know,' but I suppose we're just hours away. If you're a flight risk  _now_ , we'll just kill you next." Zevran let out a deep breath. "The traitors are Grey Wardens."

A hush fell over the Crows.

All the air escaped Kalya's lungs. Her pulse quickened, leaving her dizzy. There was no way. There were hundreds of Grey Wardens killed in the Battle of Ostagar. If just two had escaped, there was little chance it was…

"Do you know their names?" She heard her own voice ask before she realized she had spoken aloud.

A few in the crowd snickered, nervous and grateful for a relief from what must have been running through their minds.

Zevran, too, allowed himself the crack of a smile. "We weren't provided that information."

Kalya opened her mouth to say more, but Zevran continued. "Two Wardens and four civilians, including a bard, against 15 Crows. It's almost unfair to them."

Confident chuckles reverberated again through the group. Kalya's knees felt weak. Her thoughts fuzzed, aloft with wild hope while reason attempted to calm her. It wasn't him. It wasn't Alistair. But what if it was? Would she run to him? Would she shout a warning? Would she run off again like in Highever, like a coward?

Lost in thoughts, her eyes snapped back to Zevran when she realized he was at last explaining his plan.

"…as if by bandits. One of you shall meet them on the road and lead them to this valley." Kalya's hand shot up. Zevran glared at her out the side of his eye, then pointed ahead of him. "Travella. We'll need her long-range magic if the Wardens distrust us."

Zevran gestured to a small group clumped around an overturned crate.

"You five will flank from the ridge when Travella has brought the marks deep enough and I give the signal." He looked to his left. "You four will complete the pincer attack from the other side. The rest of us," he nodded to the remaining Crows, including Kalya, "we will mount a frontal attack like a battering ram. This is going to be fun, boys."

Chatter rose up amongst the Crows. Nervous energy set a few of them bouncing and juking around one another. Zevran quieted them a final time, calling on Kalya's friend who rose from her seat on a crate with a huge smile.

"Jez, you will act as lookout." He pointed to the northernmost outcropping of rock – the highest point in the crescent moon of hills. "Give the signal when they're within distance, and Travella will move to intercept. Until then," he turned back to the group, "you're free to relax as you wish."

For a solid few minutes, Kalya stood motionless. That night so many months ago in the Pearl – the last night she had seen Riordan alive, a shell of the man she'd trained with – he had mentioned the Grey Warden traitors, the rumor that some had survived. A rumor he hadn't believed.

With a gulp, she remembered Riordan was to meet with Loghain Mac Tir to learn more of the conspiracy against the king, a meddling that had likely gotten Riordan killed. But did his disappearance mean the rumors of Warden treachery were false, and the true perpetrator was taking out anyone who doubted the tale? Or was Mac Tir simply cashing in one more Grey Warden life as payment for the lives of his soldiers and king?

Well, if Riordan hadn't believed the rumor, neither did she. She scanned the half-moon valley to find Zevran climbing the small outcropping of rocks to the east, in the center of the crescent. Scrabbling after him, she met him at the apex as he looked into the distance, in the opposite direction the Wardens were supposed to be coming.

"Grey Warden traitors don't make sense," she began.

"Do you see that?" He pointed past a copse of trees on the plains far from the rocky cliffside. At first, she saw nothing, but when she squinted her eyes, she could just make out a blackened, slow-moving group of… something. Dark and wrong.

"Zevran, did you hear me?"

"Those are darkspawn." His eyes stared dead ahead, never meeting hers. "Do you think they're headed this way?"

A chill ran up her spine. She'd never seen one in person. Squinting again, she could just barely make out their unnatural ambling. Like wounded, broken humans, but also very much not. With an unconscious shiver, she was grateful they were so far away.

Zevran continued, his voice eerily even. "Their presence will draw the Wardens to us, but I'd feel better if they stayed east."

He turned to the southeast and pointed. "There's a stream over there, and more rocky cliffs. Probably some caves if the maps are correct."

"Zevran, I think we're being set up. Or used or  _something_. The Wardens would never turn on their king –"

"They don't serve a king." He never tore his eyes away from the trees blowing softly in the wind across the plains.

"Well, they wouldn't endanger their own like that. Something is weird about this. It's wrong."

"Yes," he said, finally snapping his gaze to hers. "I asked you to take another contract."

"I know, but –"

"Animals flee when the darkspawn are near. The caves will be empty."

With that, he turned to his left and started back down the rocks, towards the upturned caravan.

He called up to her. "Stay up here, won't you? Help Jez be lookout."

That Kalya would gladly do. She found a mossy rock and settled, cross-legged, atop it. From here, she could keep an eye on the darkspawn  _and_  the road that would carry the Grey Wardens right to them.

:::

A half-hour passed. Then a full hour. The Crows below were getting positively restless. Kalya could hear Zevran admonishing several for wasting nervous energy sparring with one another. Her eyes hurt from squinting northwest towards the road, hoping to get a glimpse of the Wardens before Jez did. She didn't know what she'd do if she saw them, but still…

The darkspawn were disorganized, ambling in one direction, breaking apart, closing back together, and then wandering back along another route. For a long while, they were headed east, a couple hundred meters away and moving farther. The mouth of the crescent-shaped outcropping opened in the opposite direction, keeping the Crows sheltered, but if the darkspawn suddenly rushed west and caught their scent, their only exit would be blocked.

Which is exactly what they did. A lump rose to Kalya's throat as she watched them suddenly gain speed westward, headed right for them. Still a hundred or so meters away, the darkspawn were on a direct course for the southernmost edge of the crescent. Half an hour away at most. She was just about to shout a warning into the valley, when Jez gave a few short whistles, like the trill of a bird.

To the northwest, six figures traversed the well-worn road. Each had helmets on, even the civilians, which did nothing to quiet Kalya's frantic heart. In the valley below, Zev nodded to Travella, and she began limping out of the half-moon outcropping, waving her hands frantically to the Wardens beyond.

Kalya skidded down the rocks as the others got into position. In the distance, she could just make out the two Wardens in front intercepting Travella, her hands raised in defense. One Warden shook a long braid of raven-colored hair loose as she approached. The other removed his helm with a snap, revealing perfectly tousled sandy-blond hair that stopped Kalya's heart. She staggered back half a meter before catching herself on the side of a boulder. It was him. She would have recognized him anywhere. It didn't make sense, but Alistair was alive.

After a moment's gaping, she ran straight for Zevran in the crowd of four below – her crowd, the battering-ram frontal attack – stopping just before knocking into him.

"Zev, we can't…" She couldn't gulp down enough air to catch her breath. "These Wardens aren't traitors. We have to call this off!"

He took her by the shoulders in a move so swift and rough, she nearly cried out. With a frantic look left and right to make sure none in the group could hear him, he leaned in to whisper. "Kalya, I need you to leave the valley. Run south, then east. Follow the stream. Hide in a cave until the fight is over, then return to the Crows in Denerim."

She shook her head, still panting. "Darkspawn. They're nearly on us. Zevran, we  _need_  the Wardens to fight them and–"

"That isn't an option." Cursing under his breath, he pushed her backwards, slamming her into the upturned caravan. Pain shot up her spine.

"What the fuck?!" She wriggled against his grip, but couldn't move her arms.

"Hide in the caravan. Don't move until they're gone. They'll sense the darkspawn after the ambush and take care of them. Then you can escape."

"There shouldn't  _be_  a fight! Let go of me!" Zevran turned over one shoulder to see Travella rounding the northern cliff edge with the marks in tow.

Clutching her biceps painfully in his grip, he maneuvered her around the caravan's base and crammed her into the sideways slitted opening. She kicked out her feet wildly as she fell backwards, hoping to make contact, but he dodged out of the way.

" _Don't_  make a sound. Kalya…" His eyes filled with angry tears as she squirmed to right herself against the rocky canvas beneath her. "Do this one last thing for me. Please."

Zevran turned on his heel and headed back to the group to prepare their frontal attack. A moment later, a crack of magic electrified the air, setting her hair on end. Everything smelled of ozone. The battle had begun. Shouts of the three groups running towards the Wardens set her scrambling to the slit to peer out.

Travella was already down, sliced from shoulder to ribs by the female Warden. Their bard was equipped with a bow and arrow, making quick work of the assassins on the ridge as fast as she could nock. An apostate of their own helped her take out Crows in the longer-range. Alistair turned his attention to the pincer attack coming around his right, joined by a dwarf who was cutting down Crows nearly as quickly as his companion, with a wild, berserk energy. Whinnying frantically, the caravan's horses that had been sloppily tied to a crate got spooked by the commotion and galloped out of the valley.

It was a massacre. Kalya's breath caught in her throat. She had been about to cry out when she saw Jez falling under the dwarf's sword.

Kalya saw now that Zev had saved the most talented Crows for the battering ram. The final "civilian" was a giant qunari, who battled one of the senior Crows. The bard and the apostate split away from the group, circling around the sides of the valley walls as they took out their attackers. Soon they'd be behind Zevran and his men.

Done with the ones to his right, Alistair took on two more Crows from the frontal attack. He parried their slashes easily with his shield in a resounding clang of metal against metal before delivering blow after fatal blow.

Zevran was evenly matched against the female Warden, deftly catching her sword between two blades and redirecting the energy away. He danced around her, bending backwards under her swings. The spark of fight seemed to breathe life into him, ducking effortlessly just out of reach with a smirk and a cluck of his tongue.

But in the span of an instant, his resolve wicked away. Two men lay dead before Alistair, and he turned to take on the Crow next to Zevran. They were the final two left standing.

It didn't even look like Alistair had broken a sweat. Zevran noticed, too, and with a furtive look over a shoulder towards the caravan, he slid sloppily to his left. Kalya knew his fighting style like she knew her own. This misstep was as purposeful as a feint in Wicked Grace, but not one you'd do against a Warden. Not one you hoped to come back from. He was throwing the fight. Alistair sliced through the one Crow, and on the upswing, caught Zevran by the chin with the pommel of his sword, knocking him backwards with a crack.

The thunk of an arrow hitting wood staggered Kalya back a few steps into the caravan. Foolishly, she ran back to the slit, searching for the bard, when another arrow whirred into her, catching her in the shoulder. Hot, stabbing pain radiated down her arm. Every flex of muscle, every quirk of her fingers sent bolts of angry agony throughout. Inhaling deeply, Kalya willed the distraction away, as Zevran had taught her.

With both arms painfully held out in front of her, she deigned to reveal herself through the slit, now face-to-face with the bard – a human with strawberry hair and a sunburst on her armor.

"Please! I surrender! Please don't –" Kalya's eyes darted to where Zevran now lay on the ground. Alistair stood just to his right, and the female Warden was raising her sword high above her head, tip pointed downward, a meter above Zevran's heart.

"Alistair!" Kalya couldn't help herself screaming out his name. His head jerked towards her, and strange disbelief creased his brow. He blinked his eyes, as if clearing them from a dream. She wanted to run towards him, but the Grey Warden woman next to him was only momentarily distracted.

She lifted the sword again, and Kalya could more clearly see the crest on the front of her armor. A crest she had come to know very well for six months of her life, back in Highever. Intertwining green ferns on a field of blue. She knew this woman. This woman was supposed to be her.

Shuddering from the pain in her shoulder, Kalya drew in a shaky breath. Right before the woman slammed her sword into Zevran's heart, Kalya raised her good arm and screamed out, "WARDEN COUSLAND!"


	37. A Change In Leadership

The Warden's head snapped up at the mention of her name, but the distraction only lasted a moment. Taking an annoyed deep breath before the plunge of her sword, she paused only when Alistair stammered out Kalya's name and took a step towards her, arm raised, as she peered out of the caravan.

"Out," the bard ordered, lifting the flap of canvas with the tip of her arrow, still taut in its bowstring. She peered carefully into the sideways caravan, looking for weapons or others hiding away.

Leaning only on her right arm, Kalya lifted herself out of the vehicle. Her left hung painfully at her side, the thick, sharp bolt ripping new muscles apart with every movement.

As she staggered towards the Wardens, the bard shouted in a warning tone, "Your knives!"

Kalya lifted the weapons from her boots one at a time and dropped them in the dust, her good arm raised defensively. She called out again, "Warden Cousland, please!"

With a sneer, Elissa spat in her direction, never lowering her sword. "I don't take orders from assassins  _or_  dead men. Leliana?"

"Wait!"

"Elissa, stop." Alistair turned towards her. "I-I know this woman."

There was something strange on the edge of his words that Kalya couldn't place. Distant and… hesitant. He didn't meet her gaze as she approached them, struggling to catch her breath. Was he was expecting a trap? "Warden Cousland," she said, nearly doubled over, "the men who want to kill you…"

"You?" Elissa asked, eyebrow raised. She lowered the heavy broadsword to her side, if only to give her arms a rest.

"The men who  _hired_  us," Kalya huffed, nodding towards Zevran, "only he knows who they are." The sight of his broken body unconscious on the ground twisted her stomach in knots. "They never told us. If you kill us, that information dies with him."

"I think I have a pretty good idea who it was." The Warden looked ready to bring the sword up again, but Kalya shot her arm out.

" _We'll_  kill them then. Let us live, and we'll hunt them down. No more contracts on your life."

"Right." The woman blinked slowly. "You won't just tail us and attack when our guards are down. Smarter people than you have tried to kill me before,  _elf_." She spat the word like it was a curse.

"Mmf," Zevran groaned, his eyes suddenly fluttering open. "She's smarter than she lets on. A better fighter, too. As am I."

Elissa raised her sword over him, cocking her head to one side. "You sure about that?"

He rubbed a hand on his sensitive temple where Alistair's pommel had connected. "I am. I was counting on you noticing the darkspawn just beyond that ridge before you could deal the killing blow."

Elissa frowned. "There aren't –" She closed her eyes in concentration.

Alistair did the same, but his eyes popped back open almost immediately. "Elissa…"

"Shit." She looked around the valley, scanning the shadows for some hint of a trap. Only dead bodies littered the ground around the two assassins. "Sten, Oghren, tie these two up. Alistair, Leliana, Morrigan, with me."

While the group of four ran south then east around the rocky bend, the qunari – Sten – dug into a pack, procuring two lengths of rope and tossing one to the dwarf. Kalya held her hands out in front of her, but Sten wrenched them behind her back. She yelped in pain, fire alight in her left shoulder. With a harsh shove, he forced her to the ground, next to where the dwarf was finishing the knot behind Zevran's back.

Satisfied with the restraints, their captors wandered a few meters away to keep watch for the Wardens' return. Kalya jerked towards Zevran the moment their backs were turned, her eyes blazing with anger.

"What the fuck, Zevran?!"

He lifted his face to meet hers, holding her gaze only for a moment.  _Guilty._

"What the fuck  _was_  that?" she continued. "I  _saw_  you take a dive!"

"Hey!" The qunari shouted. "No talking."

Zevran spoke quietly. "I told you why I did that."

"Bull _shit_ ," she hissed. "You were seconds away from being skewered. You  _wanted_  her to deal that killing bl… Fuck, is  _that_  what this was all about? Not eating, not sleeping." Her jaw dropped. Everything suddenly made perfect, awful sense. "Shit, you said it yourself – Crows don't kill themselves. They just take on contracts above their skill. You  _fucking_  coward!"

Kalya reared up one leg and kicked savagely into Zevran's stomach. He didn't move to block her. She would have continued the beating, but the towering qunari was at her side with staggering quickness, striking her hard in the nose with the back of his fist.

"No talking." Without another word, he returned to his spot by the dwarf, keeping watch.

Blood gushed down her face in warm rivulets. She turned to wipe it on one shoulder, but the moment it made contact, agony lanced through her skull and she winced away. Broken.

"Put your head back," Zevran whispered.

She wanted to ignore him just on principle, but when she tilted her head back slightly, the deluge of blood did seem to slow. Kalya remained in that position, sulking at the sky, until the Wardens and their companions returned, speckled with blood themselves.

"What in Andraste's name…" Alistair broke into a jog when he got close enough to see the prisoners. He still couldn't seem to look her in the eyes, although the fresh blood staining the front of her leathers must have been quite a spectacle even from a distance. A smug smile broke across Elissa's face, a few steps behind him.

"Prisoners shouldn't talk," Sten said, by way of explanation.

Slowing as he neared them, Alistair rifled through his pack and lifted out a potion before Elissa stopped him with a hand on his arm.

"Those are too precious to waste on  _them_."

"We're not barbarians."

Elissa rolled her eyes but conceded to her fellow Warden. Presumably until she could kill them both outright. "Morrigan, if you have any mana left, could you… deal with her?"

The dark-haired apostate let out a sigh, but took a step towards Kalya anyway. Expecting the cool balm of magical healing, Kalya jumped when an explosion of pain in her left shoulder rocked her backwards in the dirt. The mage lifted the bloody bolt she'd extracted with a raised eyebrow and conjured an orb of blue light within her fist.

Torment in her shoulder wicked away as quickly as it had come. The bones in Kalya's nose righted themselves with odd precision, and she scrunched up her face painlessly to test it.

"Thank you," she said softly, more to Morrigan than to Elissa. She shot Sten an audacious glare. "Can I  _thank_  her?"

The qunari grunted.

"Talk, if you're going to," Elissa said, eyeing the sun's position in the sky.

"Our lives are forfeit." Zevran flashed a flirtatious smile at the Warden. "After our spectacular failure of not killing you, we can neither return to the Crows, nor can we escape their wrath on the run. My friend here and I quite enjoy being alive, and killing us would be a terrible waste of talent.  _And_  good looks. We wish to join you."

Elissa rolled her eyes, but Alistair's lit up. His refusal to meet Kalya's gaze hurt more than the blow to her face, but at least the prospect of their joining the group seemed to please him. That was a start.

She ached to take him in her arms, to talk with him for hours about how he had cheated death, how she'd grown as a fighter, how hard she'd trained in his memory. Finding him alive was a blessing she couldn't have hoped for, but here he was.  _We may even meet again_ , he'd said, their last morning together,  _Maker willing_. For nearly a year, she'd heard his smooth voice in her head, echoing his last words to her:  _Until we meet again, my love_. As a tavern elf, she'd been beneath him then, less worthy then. What could possibly have changed that would avert his eyes now?

No, she was being ridiculous. There was something deeper keeping his gaze from hers, something that had nothing to do with her. Duncan's death, the failure of his great battle at Ostagar, the fate of Thedas on two Wardens' shoulders. Any number of horrors that she couldn't begin to guess. Just like her, he would have gone through more than she could possibly know in the past long months. They had the rest of their lives to heal the pain together that they'd gone through while apart.

"Leaving you alive doesn't benefit us in any way, skilled or not," Elissa said. "In fact, it puts us in  _more_  danger, if your Crows hunt you down."

Zevran's expression remained all confidence and smiles. "Let us be cannon fodder."

"What?" Kalya jerked her head towards him.

"Put us on your front lines," he continued. "We will  _show_  you our value on the battlefield." He turned to the bard, clearly the huntress among them. "Does your group eat well?"

The companions exchanged silent glances.

"My friend and I are excellent hunters. We can snare and cook enough for everyone to have seconds at every meal. We can teach you to make poisons and traps. And, when you trust us one day, you'll all sleep longer through the night with two extra guards to keep watch."

In the quiet of consideration, he added, "I also give  _amazing_  massages."

Alistair was the first to speak. "Elissa, we learned to trust Sten."

The bard – Leliana – looked toward their leader sheepishly. "I  _do_  need help catching our food. Four warriors tromping through the forest is not the best hunting strategy."

With closed eyes, Elissa blew out a long sigh then glared at the two prisoners. " _Since_  we're losing daylight, I will grant this  _temporary_  stay of your execution."

"You won't regret it," Zevran said, bowing his head to his new leader.

"Well,  _you_  might. Leliana, search them both and take any weapons you find. Check that the ropes are tight, and then we head out. We need to make up for this distraction. We move until dusk."

Elissa turned on her heel and headed deeper into the valley, stopping at the corpses of the fallen Crows to loot the bodies of anything they were carrying.

Kalya was incredulous as Leliana patted her down, then Zevran, pocketing every hidden dagger. "How are we supposed to defend ourselves if we get attacked?"

The bard shrugged. "Stay behind us, I guess. Or don't. Our lives won't change much either way."

:::

Elissa made the prisoners walk up front on the hike, with Sten and Oghren, saying she distrusted enemies at her back. Leliana brought up the rear while their fearless leader and the mage stayed safe in the middle. The qunari set a brutal pace – each of his steps equating about three of Kalya's – and she learned it was surprisingly easy to lose balance with your arms tied behind your back.

Kalya dared not talk with Zevran, lest the qunari backhand her again, but Zev seemed in good spirits whenever she scowled his way. She spent the majority of the day's hike scanning the terrain for enemies and peering back to try and catch Alistair's attention. It felt sublimely wrong to be so close to him and not talk to him, not touch him, but he kept his eyes mostly on the ground.

_He was alive_ , she repeated to herself _, and they had found each other again_. When they got a moment alone, they probably wouldn't even need words at first. Seeing his relieved, shy smile would make up for all their time apart.

Her heart lifted when the thought occurred to her that Alistair was just playing a part, a show of respect to his leader. She had never asked Zevran what the attack plan was all those days on the road, though she knew he would have told her. She hadn't wanted the others to think he favored her. Alistair was doing the same with his companions – waiting until the time was right, and when Elissa trusted them, he would open back up and everything would be like it was the night they met.

Only it would be better, because they now fought side by side, as almost-equals. Well, more equals than before. She would never be as strong as Elissa Cousland – the Warden  _she_  was supposed to be. Kalya's mood soured, and she kicked over a pile of rocks as they dipped into a lush valley.

The group was attacked right before dusk. A pack of wolves descended as they passed through a wooded area with already low visibility in the waning daylight. The warriors were off the moment low growls gave the predators' position away. Zevran and Kalya were left alone, with more of the pack circling from the shadows.

"Put your back to mine," Zevran commanded. Kalya was on him in an instant.

Leliana and Morrigan supported their comrades with long-range attacks, but it wasn't enough for a full sphere or protection. Two wolves broke through the warriors' attacks and fell on the two elves.

Savage kicks were all they could dole out. Zevran grabbed Kalya's hands, locking them behind their backs, for both of their stability. Kicks to the snout only phased the animals for an instant before they were back on them, learning their moves and rearing back in at a different angle. A third wolf approached Kalya with a menacing snarl, and Zevran barked out a command to rotate.

As they spun, he leaned into her for leverage and landed roundhouse blows to the new wolf's side, as Kalya's heel came down hard on another's head. But the third wolf was quick. It lunged viciously at Zevran, taking hold of his ankle firmly within its sharp maw and shaking it back and forth like a rag doll.

Kalya held on to Zevran, keeping him upright, so at least the other two couldn't descend on him while he was weakened. His yelps of pain brought the others' attention their way. Her own fight done, Morrigan's bolts of lightning now pierced the air around the two elves, crippling the wolves along their spines until they whimpered into stillness.

Zevran straightened his back, wounded leg hanging limp as he willed the pain away. Brave-faced as he was, no amount of meditation would allow him to continue the hike. Veins bulged painfully along the sides of his head to keep his mask in place. Kalya kept his hand clasped in hers to be strong. He squeezed back.

Elissa tromped through the forest brush with the rest of the group, stopping at the elves' side. She took in the sight of them, hunched and bleeding. Smug satisfaction spread again across her face. It was becoming her default expression.

"This is as good a place as any to make camp for the night." She raised a gauntleted hand toward Zevran with a dismissive wave. "Morrigan, would you mind?"

The witch angrily gestured to the forest floor around them. "This place is teeming with elfroot!"

"The perfect time, then, to stock up our reserves."

With a roll of her eyes, Morrigan knelt before Zevran. She rummaged in her pack for a vial of blue liquid, downed it like a shot, and summoned that same ball of azure light in her fist, lowering it to his ankle. Deep red blood was already seeping through his thick leather boots as the magic took hold.

"That's a handy trick," Zevran said, his jaw slowly unclenching.

Morrigan searched his eyes for a furtive moment before returning to her work, muttering, "Yes, 'tis grand being a mage. It only costs the hatred and fear of everyone around you."

"Not anyone here. Watching you command the elements is like being in the presence of a goddess. It's good to be feared."

The mage pressed her lips closed as she finished, but as she turned to make camp, Kalya thought she saw the hint of a smile.

Oghren stumbled off, presumably to create a perimeter while the group began unrolling canvas tents on bare spots of the forest floor.

Kalya and Zevran shifted uncomfortably in the group's center with all the bustle around them. She kept trained on Alistair, her chest unbearably heavy. Finally, with a strong hand smoothing the outside of his finished tent, he flashed her a small, grateful smile that filled her heart with lightness before he turned to gather some elfroot dotting the forest floor. Still… Was it shyness that kept him from coming up to her, while everyone else worked? Pain? Was it Zevran?

A rumbling behind the prisoners made them jump. Oghren reappeared with small, wheeled cart and… two more dwarves ambling towards them.

"Bodahn?" Kalya said, blinking to make him out in the dusk of the setting sun.

"Kalya?" The dwarf started towards her with a wide smile, then slowed when he saw her arms bound behind her back. His smile faded.

"Kalya!" Sandal wasn't so reserved, barreling towards the elves, nearly knocking her off her feet in a great bear hug.

"Sandal, boy… Maybe we should leave the Wardens to setting up camp." It seemed Bodahn's over-caution hadn't been quelled even while travelling with Grey Wardens.

"Kalya's here!" Sandal informed Elissa.

"Yes, she is," Elissa said, in a tone usually reserved for young children, "and perhaps Leliana should take Kalya and her friend out for a hunt."

A bloom of hope lifted weight from Kalya's chest. Hunting meant weapons, right? It meant freedom, a chance to earn their keep and the group's trust.

Leliana crinkled her nose, looking around the grove. "Ten wolves should be enough to feed us all."

Elissa shook her head. "They attacked us in the middle of the day on the route those darkspawn would have traveled We can't risk that they might have been tainted."

If that was true, did the taint travel through bites? Kalya shot Zevran an urgent look, but he just rolled his eyes with an almost imperceptible shake of his head. Neither would turn down a chance to hunt.

Leliana made her way towards the two elves, unsheathing a short knife, when Elissa interrupted.

"Don't untie them, don't give them weapons." The Warden turned with a smiling glare at Kalya. "You  _expert_  hunters find the game, and Leliana will take care of them."


	38. False Witness

Zevran led them nearly a kilometer south of camp for the hunt. It was true enough that any tasty game would have been spooked by the commotion of the wolf fight, but half that distance would have been sufficient.

Kalya kept her eyes trained on the elf, waiting for some cue that this was more than a hunt. His pleading for their lives and promises to serve the group had sounded genuine enough, but she wanted to be prepared for anything. Within reason. After reuniting with Alistair, she wasn't about to leave his side, but she also didn't fancy being used as collateral damage if she could help it. With no weapons, no range of motion, there was a limit to how much a mage could cure when another attack came. Her ears pricked, ready for any command.

What she wasn't expecting was Leliana sidling up a little too close behind them when they reached a thick cluster of vegetation.

"Were we followed?" Her hushed voice suddenly made Kalya feel very unsafe.

Zev must have caught the same whiff of suspicion. He masked it with an amused expression and raised eyebrow, but Kalya saw his biceps tense, for all the good they'd do him tied behind his back.

"There's no one within earshot, if that's what you mean," he said. A hint of menace to match menace.

"Good."

Behind her, Kalya recognized the dull shink of a knife being removed from its leather sheath. She spun to her left, but Leliana's grip caught her forearm. With a quick slash, Kalya's arms snapped apart. The length of rope fell to the forest floor.

Zevran allowed the bard behind him, and in moments, he too was freed.

Procuring a second knife from an opposite sheath on her hip, Leliana tossed them in the air, caught them by the blades, and extended the handles to the two elves.

"Is this a trick?" Kalya leaned away from the offering, but Zevran grasped his in an instant.

"No trick. It's getting dark, and it'll be faster and quieter if we split up."

A mischievous smile split Zevran's face. A spark of trouble Kalya hadn't seen in months lit his features. "But your dear leader…"

"Doesn't have to know, if you will oblige me tying you back up when we're finished. I like to discern trust on my own terms."

Zevran nodded his head to the east, deeper into the brush. "We should fan out this way. These bushes are usually full of berries. Something is living nearby."

The weight of the knife in her hand enveloped Kalya like a barrier of protection. Surprising how vulnerable one could feel surrounded by a group of armed warriors. Well, maybe not surprising when most of them hated you. She caught herself slashing the air, running through some defensive tactics, before a raised hand up ahead stilled her blade.

Zev had located a small thicket providing shelter for… something. By the pattern of trampling around it, Kalya guessed it was a family of wild boar. He approached soundlessly, gave the ready signal, then rustled the brush. With a leap, he descended on the first to flee. Kalya caught a larger sow running in the opposite direction, and Leliana sunk bolt after bolt into the three younger boar scrabbling wild and scared.

When all were felled, Leliana shrugged out of her pack and hunched to the ground to cut several lengths of rope. The elves slit the throats of each pig and strung them up by their hind legs over a tree branch, bleeding them out so they would be lighter for the trek back.

A quarter hour later, the last drips of blood hit the forest floor. Zevran tested balancing the larger boar over his shoulders while holding his arms behind his back. It looked believable enough that the elves would have simply been used as trackers and then workhorses. Leliana rose to her feet and got to work connecting three medium-sized piglets on one rope.

As the bard worked, Kalya caught Zev eyeing Leliana's satchel, some thirty steps away from her turned back. He quickly blinked away, but she knew his feigned aloofness all too well. She followed his gaze. He wasn't giving her a signal; he was planning something of his own. The glint of Leliana's third knife shone next to her backpack on the forest floor. He shook his head almost imperceptibly with a warning smirk.

"Do you need more rope?" she asked, heading for Leliana's pack.

The woman didn't lift her head from looping a complex knot. "Yes, about another meter. Thanks."

Kalya bent down and slipped the knife into her boot in one smooth motion.

When they finished tying up the pigs, Leliana brushed her hands off and gathered the Crows around her pack.

"I'm sorry to have to do this again, but hunt with me tomorrow, and you'll have your freedom again, for a short while." She held her hands out for the knives, and both elves dutifully returned them, then lifted the two larger boars over their shoulders.

Flipping Kalya around first, she wound another length of rope around her wrists, just as tightly as Sten had done.

"I will work on Elissa. I doubt she can keep you bound forever, but ideally you'll be free before you're chewed to death by wolves."

Leliana could only carry two of the smaller pigs around her own shoulders. She strung the remaining pig on a long rope and handed an end to each of the elves. Even uncomfortably behind their backs, their bound hands held the rope and stretched it taut between them.

As they walked back to camp, several paces behind Leliana, Zevran again caught Kalya's eye, but this time a smile spread across his face.

"That was sneaky and dangerous," he said quietly, maneuvering around a tree root. "My two favorite things in a woman."

"I didn't take it for us," Kalya hissed. "I took it so  _you_  wouldn't slit your wrists the first chance you got."

He blew out a sigh. Leliana trudged farther ahead.

"So if we're attacked again, you'll leave it in your boot? Seems a shame."

She ignored him. The sky's vibrant purples and greys began to give way to the approaching darkness, with just a few dim stars trying to burst through the night sky. Kalya was eager to rest her bones in silence before another long day of trying to stay alive.

"Would you believe me if I told you I no longer wanted to kill myself?"

"No." She ducked under a low branch. Zevran kept trying to meet her eyes.

"I had a change of heart when you stilled that woman's blade."

She wanted to zoom ahead, force him to uncomfortably keep up with her, to approach camp sooner, but exhaustion was setting in. With a sigh, she asked, "And will you want to kill yourself tomorrow, or do I have to wait and see?"

Zevran shifted under the weight of his sow.

"Kalya, before all this, I never –"

"No." Kalya stopped and glared at him. "All you've done is lie to me. I'm through listening to your half-truths. And I obviously can't even see warning signs when they're right in front of my face, so all I can do is… this." She nodded down to her boot.

He cocked his head to the side with the hint of a smile. "Fight me while pretending not to care?"

"Protect you."

"Protect  _me_?" His mouth stretched into an amused smile.

Kalya adjusted the pig on her back and started back on the path, now several minutes behind the bard.

"From yourself."

The lightness ghosted slowly away from his face, but never completely faded. They walked the rest of the way to camp in silence.

:::

Alistair's eyes went wide when he saw the haul they returned with, and the goofy smile that cracked his pained face filled Kalya's heart with welcome warmth. She knew he was counting on their success at the hunt, as she was, to prove trustworthiness to Elissa. Every little bit helped. That, or his wide grin was at the prospect of all the food. She would take either.

The warriors unloaded the pigs from the prisoners' backs, and Leliana began preparing the food alone, humming as she went.

The two elves were left bound and shuffling in nervous energy in the center of a ring of tents. Elissa hovered nearby, supervising Sten and Oghren as they drove stakes into the ground at opposite ends of the camp. Kalya presumed those were to be the prisoners' sleeping arrangements for the immediate future. Well, she'd be happy to be away from Zevran.

Once the stakes were sufficiently secured, everyone retired to their tents to change into lighter armor for the evening. Leliana's back was turned, still humming away as she worked on the food. The elves exchanged a look. It was strange to be left alone for even a moment. Zevran shrugged and leaned back against a tree. Kalya bent into a crouch, ready for the day's trudging to wick from her weary muscles. What she wouldn't give for a bath, even in a cold nearby stream.

A few minutes later, Elissa emerged from her tent and lowered slowly onto a stump, eyes closed in what might have been pain. Now without her heavy pauldrons, the Warden began rubbing a sore shoulder. Zevran was at her side in an instant.

"The day has tired you," he said, a twinkle of daring sparking his features. "Would you like one of my massages?"

Elissa snorted. "Can you do it with your hands behind your back?"

"I can do a  _lot_  tied up in rope."

Kalya's eyes nearly rolled out of her head, but Elissa stilled, disarmed for a moment, before rising to her feet. After a beat, she replied, "Just keep it in your pants until I figure out what to do with the two of you."

"So, perhaps later then?"

She walked towards the fire shaking her head, but it was obvious the elf had amused her.

When Oghren and Sten re-emerged, Elissa sent them to tie the elves to their posts for the night. At least they were allowed to sit down. Kalya had never slept sitting up, but exhausted as she was, she doubted she'd have a problem. The dwarf tied the knot with one last jerk, somehow tighter than she'd been confined all day. She shot him a glare as he ambled back to the center of camp and sat amongst the group to eat.

When dinner was finished, Leliana brought both elves thin strips of meat and fed it to them, followed by a slow pull from a canteen of water. It was humiliating, but Kalya was famished. She couldn't meet the woman's eyes, nodding curtly when she'd had her fill. At his turn, Zevran ate unabashedly and thanked the woman for her kindness.

Extra servings of meat were left roasting over the dying fire, drying out to be used for breakfast and perhaps lunch as they marched the next day. The smell set Kalya's stomach growling for more, but she forced herself to be grateful for what she had been given.

Everyone went their separate ways for their nightly ritual – some to the nearby stream, others relaxing near the cooling fire. Alistair retired to his tent early, and with him went Kalya's hopes of pouring her heart out while the others went about their business. Tomorrow, then.

Leliana and Morrigan emerged from their tents just as everyone was settling down. First watch was theirs.

The camp was still at last. The dim stars she'd seen earlier were now burning their brightest, lighting up the camp in the dying firelight. Zevran slumped over sideways against his post, deep in sleep already. Soft snoring in a quiet cacophony drifted out of the cluster of tents and Kalya quickly found sleep herself.

:::

"My dagger!"

Kalya awoke with a harsh kick to her leg, registering her surroundings only seconds after Leliana's shrieks. The qunari loomed over her. Heart racing, her gaze shot to Zevran who was being jerked to standing by the dwarf. Her mind struggled to cut through the fog of sleep.

The tents had already been collapsed, and Leliana was tearing through her backpack frantically. All eyes were on the two elves.

"Who has my dagger?!" Leliana shouted. "I had  _three_  when I left for the hunt."

Kalya's heart pounded almost painfully behind her rib cage. She had to force herself to not look to Zevran for guidance. Sten grabbed her by the neck and tried to lift her to his level while still tied tight to the post. She yelped in pain.

"I have it," she choked. "I have the knife. It's in my boot! Let me go!"

Elissa was closest, and she marched over and shoved her hand into Kalya's boot, drawing the knife out.

She pointed the glinting blade towards Kalya's face as Sten retained his grip. "How did you get this?"

Kalya gulped hard, speaking before she could think. "I – Last night, before dinner… Everyone was in their tents when I ran for her satchel –" Her words were cut off by Sten tightening his fist.

Leliana rushed to Elissa's side, face flushed. She motioned for the Warden to join her just out of Kalya's earshot and whispered something urgently. Sten squeezed tighter, crushing tendons,and cutting off her airflow almost completely.

"We don't  _know_  that!" Elissa hissed.

Something in Leliana's quiet words seemed to calm her slightly. Darkness crept slowly around the edges of Kalya's vision as she wheezed. After a moment, Elissa turned and started back toward Kalya, head shaking with disappointment.

"I won't kill you  _now_ , but who knows where the day will take us?" She turned to Sten towering above them both. "Tie her tighter. The other one, too."

The qunari grunted and obliged, letting go of Kalya's throat. Air rushed into her starving lungs, and she choked out a gasp. As she swayed dizzy in front of him, Sten tied her legs together with barely enough room for a full step. Then, yanking her backwards, he looped the rope around her confined hands. Its tautness had her slightly bent backwards. Her heart ached as she watched him do the same to Zevran, but he just smirked at his captors. His pain was her fault.

When camp was packed, Elissa shoved the two elves to the front of the group for the day's travels. A dusty path led out of the forest towards more barren terrain.

Kalya kept tripping in her tight bindings, much to Oghren's hooting amusement. Every half hour or so, she fell behind the backbreaking pace. Sten and Oghren stayed directly behind, so whenever they passed her, one would whip around and growl a warning to keep up.

The road north was a precarious rocky path. Zevran stayed close by, digging his hip into hers whenever her step stuttered. She said nothing, ashamed and angry with herself.

By mid-morning, they were forced to traverse a shaky ridge. Loose pebbles peppered the almost-sheer rockfaces slanting down on both sides.

Oghren snorted loudly and turned to Sten. "Do ya think elves bounce or break?" The qunari stayed silent.

"Ooh, or if they  _both_  tumbled down, do ya think we'd be able to tell them apart at the bottom, all dusty and bloody? I can barely tell them apart as it is."

When no one responded, the dwarf swept his foot out and caught the back of Kalya's boot. In an instant, Zevran leaned his head forward to counter-balance her wobble.

"Your leader believes us to be worth more alive," Zevran said, with a hint of acid on the edge of his voice.

"Dwarves make a  _living_  determining worth, and I disagree." The dwarf jerked his head behind him, where Kalya could hear Elissa snickering quietly. She didn't give her the satisfaction of turning around, but her heart ached with the hope that Alistair didn't hear.

By the time they broke for lunch, Kalya's wrists were rubbed raw and bloody. The extra rope left even less room in the already tight bindings, and the hump of a knot cut painfully into her immobile palms.

Sten bound the two elves together and sat them on the ground closest to him as the group ate a few thin pheasants Leliana had caught with her arrows. From their light chatter, Kalya learned they were nearly a day away from their destination, a town called Redcliffe that Alistair seemed very eager to get to.

She finally caught his eye from over the edge of the table and flashed him a shy smile, but he averted his eyes so quickly, she wondered if he had met her gaze at all.

Shame burned into her cheeks. In Denerim, she'd been scolded by human masters in the mansions where she worked, shunned by her own peers in the Crows, and probably disgraced far worse in the fuzzy alcohol-soaked time spent on her own. Still, she'd never felt more humiliated than she did being held prisoner by the one person who had kept up her spirits, whose memory urged her to fight on. This wasn't the "by his side" she'd prayed for in the Chantry.

Her entire body felt too heavy. She arched her back against Zevran wordlessly, sore from being pulled back at such an odd angle.

"Fight through the pain," Zevran said, too low for the qunari to hear. "Let it fuel your resolve."

"I know," she answered.

"This isn't forever."


	39. When Bears Attack

The day's hike continued through mountainous terrain, with desolate outcroppings of rock on all sides slowly giving way to hilly greenery. Pine forests began to dot the hillsides as they trudged ever upward.

Kalya stayed silent, concentrating on not stumbling in the too-tight confines around her ankles and uncomfortable angle of her spine. Shame scorched her cheeks. She couldn't bear to look Zevran in the eye. If there had been a chance at redemption in the Wardens' eyes, she had blown it for both of them. And without food or water for an entire day, their chances of granting Oghren's wish and tumbling down an unsteady rockface were becoming ever more likely.

When an angry growl reverberated through the wooded foothills at dusk, Kalya staggered backwards, nearly knocking into Zevran. An instant later, a huge brown mass, all bared-teeth and claws, lunged towards Sten and Oghren right behind them. Another larger bear appeared right by the Wardens, rearing back on its hind legs. The group collapsed inward, focusing first on the bear swiping its great paw towards Alistair. The smaller female turned towards Kalya and Zevran, who nervously backed up the side of a hill.

Out the corner of her eye, Kalya saw Leliana break away from the circle. She joined the elves' side, firing bolt after bolt into the haunches of the female. Its thick hide masked the onslaught at first and she continued to advance, snarling a deep warning, until an arrow to the temple dropped her hard to the rocky forest floor.

Zevran panted a thanks, but Kalya just stared in silence, studying the woman with narrowed eyes. Leliana nodded and then joined her companions right as the other bear crumpled to the ground.

Lifting off her helm under the darkening sky, Elissa motioned to make camp. The prisoners' stakes were driven into the ground on opposite sides of a huge boulder nearby before the tents were even rolled out. Zevran offered Kalya a weak smile right as they were jerked apart and tied to their "beds" for the evening.

The group's efficiency was impressive. Kalya watched the warriors wordlessly get to work skinning the great beasts as Morrigan and Leliana built a campfire between their boulder and the makeshift dinner table for the evening.

The Crows weren't built for pack-hunting. She'd learned in her short time away from the compound that traveling in groups almost always ended in hostility. Assassins tended to ignore the greater good in favor of individual needs. Still, it worked, somehow. What they lacked in organization, they made up in deadliness.

Darkness enveloped the campsite around the dim fire. There were no stars out tonight.

Dinner discussion was out of Kalya's earshot, and despite the crackling orange fire, Zevran was already nodding off to sleep. Leliana, again, brought them strips of meat and water when the group began to prepare for bed. Kalya was salivating before the woman was even at her side. She couldn't imagine how Elissa allowed it, but she was certainly grateful, managing a humiliating murmur of thanks after she was fed.

First watch appeared to be Leliana and Oghren. The dwarf got comfortable by Bodahn's wooden caravan with a large tankard of ale – his second of the night after indulging at dinner. Kalya's mouth watered again at the thought of cool Dwarven Ale hitting her lips. With so little to eat, it would only take a few strong gulps for the aching misery in her bones to melt away into numbness.

Leliana sauntered over to the boulder where she and Zevran sat bound. A small jutting of rock provided a seat right near Kalya's side. The bard lowered herself onto it, eyes trained to the camp's perimeter.

"I'm sorry," Kalya said. "I hope Elissa didn't blame you for leaving your satchel out like that."

Leliana's laughter tinkled in the night air like a tiny bell. "Don't. You're a smart girl. Let's respect each other."

Kalya blinked at her.

"I know you took the knife when we were on the hunt."

"You do?"

The bard chuckled again. "Of course I do. I planted it. Honestly, I thought it would be Zevran who took it, but I'm happily surprised."

Kalya's mouth fell open. "Does Elissa know?"

"No." Leliana drew a small block of wood from her boot. With a flourish of her wrist, a knife slid out of her sleeve, and she began whittling at the chunk's edges. "I told you. I like to discern trust on my own terms."

Heat roiled upwards from Kalya's stomach in bitter bursts. "You set me up!" A loud snore from a nearby tent silenced any further outrage.

Leliana raised an eyebrow, casting a sideward glance at the elf. "I didn't  _make_  you take it. But I'm glad you did. It was a test, and you passed with flying colors on all counts."

Kalya huffed. Fury burned through her face to the tips of her ears, but something compelled her to still her tongue.

"One, you didn't cut yourself free last night and kill us all in our sleep. I suppose you could have been saving it for some better opportunity, but why wait? That proves your credibility. You took it to deny the wildlife a second chance to chew you to bits, nothing more."

Oghren clapped his mug on the hard ground all the way across camp, making Kalya jump. Then he rose to his feet, swaying a bit as he surveyed the perimeter.

"Two, you didn't lie about it when asked, even without questioning." Leliana's red lips cracked into a wide smile. "That proves you're smart. Especially since we would have found it anyway."

"Sten seems to have a different definition of 'questioning' than you," Kalya muttered.

A long strip of wood fell to the ground, curled and raw. Leliana switched her grip, holding the knife by the blade to make more precise, tiny cuts in the small wooden block.

"Anyway, that's what I told Elissa, and that's why she spared your life again."

The biting rope into her wounded wrists didn't incline Kalya to be terribly grateful, although she knew she should be.

"You could have just saved us the trouble and told her you planted the knife."

"Ah, but that's where Test Three came into play." She squinted at her sculpture in the waning firelight, scraping off tiny shards in just the right spots. "The fact that you  _took_  the knife in the first place shows you're resourceful. Our leader tends to see the law in black and white. It was 'against her orders.' I doubt she would have agreed with your reasons – self preservation or no."

Leliana sunk the knife into her boot and held the tiny sculpture in her palm. It was a mabari, rough but solid and strong. The image softened Kalya, despite herself. Until now, she had nearly forgotten about the dog that had befriended her in the days before she arrived at Highever.

"It's beautiful," Kalya said.

"It's for a lost friend." Leliana tossed it lightly into the fire. She stood and brushed the shavings off her lap. "I will keep working on Elissa. I've gotten my way before. I dare say she will need both of your help sooner rather than later."

The woman walked away from Kalya with a sway in her hips and met Oghren at the camp's perimeter. They passed each other, moving in opposite directions as they circled.

Kalya's mind swam. So, she  _had_  done the right thing? Was it worth having the bard's approval over a Warden's? Even if Leliana  _was_  more reasonable, all it would take is the swipe of Elissa's broadsword or one too many enemies advancing while the elves remained tied up, and everything she'd fought for would come to a bloody end.

With the prospect of being freed, of possibly being an equal, sleep wouldn't come easily, though her bones pleaded for rest. She contemplated waking Zevran to ask his thoughts over the next hour, eventually deciding against it. Oghren ambled back to the tents, then leaned to the one next to his and patted into it with an open palm. Alistair's tent.

Kalya sat up straight, suddenly the farthest from tired she could be. Sure enough, moments later, Alistair emerged in light armor, yawning and digging into one eye with the back of his hand.

Leliana remained circling the perimeter. A staggered watch?

Kalya's heart hammered beneath her rib cage. The barrel-chested Warden looked every bit the part of the seasoned warrior as he rested a hand on the pommel of his sword. He was heading towards Bodahn's caravan when Kalya whispered his name. He spun around, blushing when he met her eyes. Then, after looking sheepishly to his left and right, he started back towards her.

"I-It's strange, isn't it?" he asked when he had reached her side. His eyes darted upwards to the night sky. "We've been so near, and yet... it's hard to find a chance to speak."

Kalya's body arched towards him, magnetic, no longer stilled by the pain in her wrists. He adjusted the sword in his belt and sat on the flattened jut of rock by her side.

"Alistair, I…" Her mouth was suddenly dry. She swallowed hard, words tumbling out of their own accord. "I know things are… odd now, but I can't begin to tell you how grateful I am that you're alive."

"That makes two of us." His goofy chuckle all but massaged away the tension knotting her shoulders.

"And what about you?" He turned to her and their eyes met for a single moment in the dancing firelight before darting away. "Bodahn told me…" It was Alistair's turn to gulp. "He said you'd been killed by Denerim's Imperial Guards."

She sniffed. "That seems like a lifetime ago. Even longer than when we... Oh, Alistair, I prayed for you every day in the Chantry."

"You did?" In the dim firelight, the freckles dusting his cheekbones curled up into a half smile. "I didn't even know you were –"

"I'm not. Religious. I mean, I don't know, but I guess the Maker doesn't mind." Her heart was pounding with such ferocity, she had to will her breathing to come out in something steadier than just quick bursts. Being near Alistair, talking like old friends, made her feel like a giddy teenager again.

After a moment, the smiling creases ghosted from his face, and he stared towards his feet.

"Losing Duncan at the Battle of Ostagar was… I was in a really bad place. But I still had you to fight for, you know? Somewhere out there safe, I'd hoped. When I found out you had died, too… I wasn't good for much of anything for a few months, I'm ashamed to say." His gaze returned to the starless night sky. "Morrigan suggested they leave me in the Deep Roads. I almost wanted them to."

Kalya didn't know what to say. With nervous energy, she shuffled her feet, carving a small circle in the dirt in front of her.

"But Elissa pulled me out of it." His gaze darted to the other Warden's tent, shaking his head softly. "She's a good leader. Especially when  _I_  couldn't be, andI'm the senior Warden." He leaned back against the cold rock as Kalya froze on the ground. "I know she can be harsh, but she  _saved_  me, Kalya, in more ways than one. I don't know where we'd be…"

Kalya's eyes lowered. "I'm just so happy we found each other again. Makes me believe in fate, stupid as that sounds. If I had taken another mission…" Her voice trailed off as she lifted her eyes to meet his, but rather than softness, creases of concern pained across his face. Kalya now recognized the look he'd been giving her for days as one of shame and guilt. Disappointment.

"Kalya," he said, voice straining to stay even, "how could you have… Why did you join the Crows? An  _Assassin's_  Guild. I thought you believed in…heralds of good."

Her jaw dropped, but no sound came out. Her already rapid heart picked up the pace. Words rushed through her mind, searching for the right ones to diffuse this situation. None came.

"And Leliana's knife? I-I'm trying to trust you here, but… I know you're a good person. I'm telling  _Elissa_  you're a good person, but you're making it… I don't know what to say."

"I was almost a Warden." Kalya kept trained on the dying firelight. "I was on my way to see Duncan when everything went to shit. Riordan had been training me in Highever and he was passing through, recruiting."

"Riordan!" Alistair jerked up straight. "Is he alive?"

"He… I don't know." She didn't have the heart to voice her true suspicions. "He was headed to meet Loghain right before I was taken into the Crows."

He drew his head back, eyebrows creased. " _Taken_?"

"I never wanted to join them."

Darkness clouded Alistair's eyes, suddenly deadly and formidable. "What did they do to you?"

Kalya bit the side of her lip, fidgeting in her ropes. "I  _survived_. I survived and you survived, and we're here now together. And… all I want is to fight by your side."

When she met his eyes again, they were glistening in the light of the dwindling fire.

"Kalya, I… I don't know what to say."

"Say you won't look at me like I'm a prisoner or – or a thief. Let me show you I can fight."

Alistair rubbed at the back of his neck for a moment. Then his lips stiffened into a hard line of resolve. "I'll talk to Elissa –"

"And Oghren and Sten?"

The line cracked into an adorable smirk, and any remnant of the days-old ache in Kalya's heart melted away in an instant. "And everyone."

Leliana appeared in the firelight from her most recent lap around the camp, heading towards the ring of tents.

"We'll hit Redcliffe tomorrow," Alistair said. Soft levity returned to his features. "There will be beds for everyone and warm meals –  _real_  warm meals. It's really a lovely village."

The wistful look in his eye as he glanced out in the darkness made Kalya smirk.

"You've been?" she said.

"Oh, yes. I spent time there as a child. Actually…" He carded a hand through his sandy blond hair. Then, more to himself than to her, he muttered: "Void take me, I've got to tell  _someone_."

Kalya raised an eyebrow.

"I… You know King Maric? Cailan's father?"

She nodded, but movement to their left caught both of their attention. Elissa exited her tent just as Leliana was retreating into hers. Alistair clapped his hands on his knees and rose, instantly at attention.

"I should…probably get patrolling," he said sheepishly as he started on his way.

Kalya put on her best fake smile. Their time together had almost had her forgetting that she was his prisoner. "History lesson later?"

Alistair turned around but continued to walk backwards, flashing a goofy smile that would sustain her through the night. "Yes. Definitely." Then he spun on his heel and jogged to Elissa's side.

Kalya felt weightless. Tension dissipated from her aching shoulders, and she let out a sigh that Soris and Shianni would have mocked for weeks. Still not in the mood for sleep, she watched the two of them circle the camp side by side. Alistair's strong hands gestured wildly. Kalya wondered if he was pleading her case right then.

It was on their third lazy lap around camp that she saw it. Alistair laid his hand on the small of Elissa's back to steer her around an overgrown tree root. The Warden responded in kind by resting her head against his shoulder with a deep sigh.

The gesture was so natural, so tender. Familiar. An indescribable weight pressed down on Kalya's chest as if she were being suffocated. She drew in a shaky breath and squeezed her eyes closed, surprised to find them wet.

If Kalya had suspected Elissa knew she was awake, she would have thought the gesture was meant for her to see. One more jab for the thieving prisoner. But she hadn't so much as glanced in her direction since leaving her tent. This was…practiced affection done without thought.

How many other gestures had happened right before her eyes that she just didn't pick up on? Her mind ran through the past couple days. Alistair's inability to meet her eyes whenever Elissa was near. Side-by-side formations, even while the rest of the group changed positions. Tents right next to each oth—Oh, Maker. They hadn't… Had they? An ache suddenly stung through Kalya's heart as tangibly as if it had been pierced.

With a muffled sob, Kalya forced her eyes closed again. Leaning back against her prison post, she willed sleep to take her from this place. To forget, if only for a little while.


	40. The Arl of Redcliffe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Author's Note: Oh, I'm finishing this story. Thank you so much for sticking with me! I'll never let go, Jack!_

 

 

Towering in the foggy distance, Redcliffe Castle was finally visible when the group rounded the mountain bend. An eerily quiet town sat to the east in the valley below. Alistair walked to the edge of the path, hands on his hips, surveying the scene before him. After a moment, he turned to flash a lopsided grin at Kalya. A weak smile wavered across her lips before she could catch herself, her heart suddenly doubling into frantic thrums. With a physical pang of hurt, she averted her gaze.

When they'd been untied in the morning, Kalya and Zevran's captors left only the loose binding around their wrists. The rope connecting their arms to their ankles, bending them backwards at an excruciating angle was slashed, and they were allowed to walk side-by-side in formation. Kalya kept her eyes cast towards the ground, feeling empty and sick to her stomach, though they were given a full ration's worth of breakfast.

As they hiked, Zev nudged into her shoulder, sensing something was wrong, but she kept focused on the path ahead, silent. With the group out of earshot, Zevran leaned in close as they walked.

"I do not blame you for taking the knives, nor admitting it. It's what I would have done."

Kalya just shook her head, worried that if she spoke aloud, she'd burst into tears.

"What then?" He sounded so brotherly with concern, she almost wished she had awoken him to tell the whole story last night, but… there seemed no point to it now.

Her reflex had always been to turn pain into anger, to hate Elissa for stealing yet another dream from underneath her, to blame Alistair for… settling for something right in front of him instead of waiting on a ghost. But even as she sought out reasons for fury, she found herself unable to believe any of them. It just… was. The two of them – Wardens, Warriors, leaders – made a weird kind of sense together; more than she and he ever had. And that hurt the most.

Alistair had shot his goofy half-smile at her all during breakfast and the morning's hike, looking relieved to have finally spoken with her the night before. He couldn't have known she had seen the tender touch he shared with Elissa, nor should he have had any reason to hide it. Void take her, Kalya didn't even know if the two of them had yet shared a tent or if this were still the awkward beginnings where affection takes hold. But none of that helped quiet her aching heart. For nearly the past year, she had foolishly thought of Alistair as hers, and now he never would be.

The group was silent as they looked at the quiet town below. At least a town meant a respite from sleeping on the dirt. The tug of a good night's sleep pulled at Kalya as palpably as the constant yearning for alcohol she still hadn't completely shut off within her. A few hours' freedom from aching self-pity seemed heavenly, however it was achieved. As if on cue, Oghren took a long pull from the leather canteen he carried with him, and her mouth began to water.

While the group busied themselves with relieving their weary legs, Alistair pulled Elissa aside, away from the rest of the group. From the wringing of his hands, he was sharing something that made him quite uncomfortable. Kalya had to tear her eyes away to quiet the fresh rip of pain opening underneath her chest.

Just when the Wardens returned to continue their ascent, a human archer appeared on the path leading to the town. The group reached for their weapons, but the man was outfitted in barely sufficient hunting leathers, looking more terrified than menacing.

He raised his hands and dipped his head in an awkward bow. "I thought I saw travelers coming down the road, though I scarcely believed it. Have you come to help us?"

Elissa and Alistair shared a look before she narrowed her eyes at him. "Why? Has something happened?"

He peered uneasily over one shoulder at the castle behind him, as if its inhabitants could hear. "We're under attack. Monsters come out of the castle every night and attack us until dawn. Everyone's been fighting… and dying."

Morrigan returned her staff to its clasp on her back with a roll of her eyes. "Apparently everyone seems to agree that a Blight is the perfect time to start killing each other. Marvelous, really."

The man looked pitiful, still bowed before them. A spark of desperation wavered his eyes. "We've… no army to defend us, no arl and no king to send us help. So many are dead, and those left are terrified they're next."

Alistair took a step forward. "'No arl'? What happened to Arl Eamon? What's going on?"

The red-haired man cast his eyes at Alistair's feet. "He's deathly ill. We don't even know if he's alive."

"Bann Teagan – Eamon's brother – is he here?"

This raised the man's head. "Yes. It's not far, if you'll come with me."

Elissa spun towards the group, eyes calculating. "Oghren, you stay here with the elves. The rest of you, with me."

The dwarf nodded and leaned back against a large boulder by the side of the path as the party headed to the town in the valley below. Zev began stretching out his back as much as his confines would let him. Unable to quiet her mind enough to sit still, Kalya paced a small-enough path as to not upset her remaining captor.

A half-hour passed, and no one had returned. Try as she might not to think about him, Kalya's mind drifted to worry for Alistair. He'd mentioned spending time here as a child. Had those he'd known a lifetime ago been amongst the town's attacked?

Oghren too began pacing the upper lane. A windmill stood frozen a few dozen meters ahead, marking the entrance to the thin castle path. The dwarf stopped, facing the outside of the wooden structure for a few moments before Kalya realized he was relieving himself. She blinked quickly back to the town below.

After what seemed like hours, the nervous archer reappeared on the path's bend, with a smirking Leliana and another red-haired man in tow. The man held himself with an air of nobility, dressed in fine leathers that had rarely seen battle. And while the archer still eyed the tied-up elves warily, the noble nodded deeply to the three of them as he approached.

Leliana was the first to speak. "Doing anything tonight?"

Zevran kicked off the cliff wall where he'd been leaning with a wide smile. "Have something in mind?"

"Slaying a horde of undead."

"Whatever you're into." Zev's eyes twinkled with mischief as he lifted his still-tied arms behind him. "Although I doubt _kicking_ them to death would be terribly effective."

"Elissa has given me leave to use your services." Leliana produced a small dagger from her side and advanced on Zevran first, then Kalya, freeing their hands from their confines. Kalya's aching wrists were too raw to rub, but the freedom was a weight lifted. She met the woman's eyes, nodding in thanks.

The nobleman puffed up his chest. "Warden Elissa has agreed to help Redcliffe, thank the Maker. She's making preparations right now to fortify the town for tonight's attack."

Oghren's eyes widened with an excitement Kayla hadn't yet seen in their travels together. "I've been _waiting_ for a proper fight." He jerked his head towards the quiet path to the castle. "They come through that bottleneck there?"

The noble gave a nod. Leliana pressed her lips flat at the dwarf's enthusiasm, but with it came a hint of disingenuity Kalya couldn't place. "Elissa has ordered that the former prisoners _alone_ act as the first line of defense, here, while the rest of the militia holds strong in the heart of town. _We're_ to join her in the valley before nightfall."

If Zevran noticed the same feint, he kept it quiet, bowing low to the nobleman. "We would be honored to fight for your town."

The noble stepped forward. "The honor is mine. I've informed your leader – against her wishes – that I shall be defending alongside you up here. I wish to keep the fight far from our townspeople or die trying."

"This is the arl's brother, Bann Teagan of Rainesfere, and hopefully it won't come to that. Teagan, our companions Kalya, Zevran, and Oghren."

Kalya's heart raced. Did Leliana no longer consider her a prisoner? She nodded towards the three humans.

A flirtatious smile cracked Zev's lips. "A true man of the people."

"I'll be up here, too." Leliana patted the crossbow on her back. "You lot will need some long-range support."

"Oh? And what does our dear Warden think about that?"

"I'll ask her tomorrow. Oghren?"

The dwarf held up his canteen in a toast. "I never say no to a slaughter at a bottleneck. We'll ask the Warden for forgiveness later."

Teagan smiled warmly. "I look forward to being forever in your debt."

The nobleman turned to address Kalya and Zevran, and she cursed the nervous heat rising to her ears. She dipped her head. Heads of the estates where she had worked before had only spoken to her directly to chastise her failings or her misfortune of being an elf.

"Pardon the assumption, but Leliana mentioned you are _former_ prisoners?" A lump caught in Kalya's throat, and she braced to defend herself. "I assume you have no weapons."

Zevran flexed his biceps with a proud smile. The man chuckled. It took Kalya a few moments before she realized he wasn't asking if _they_ were a threat.

"I have some extra daggers in my –" Leliana cut short when Teagan staggered backwards a step, eyes wide at Zevran.

"Maker's breath, your wrists!" Blinking, he registered Leliana's offer and waved a hand at her. "Nonsense, we've got a dozen short swords in the armory. And I'll fetch some potions for the both of you. Tomas, would you accompany me?"

The nervous archer nodded and the two of them set back down the path.

Leliana raised her eyebrows with a grin and regarded the rest of the group. "Well? Shall we try to fortify this path before the horde descends?"

Oghren tipped his head towards the windmill. "Saw a pile of wood pallets in a heap back there. We could make a crap barricade in a few hours."

Zev and Leliana agreed, and the group set off towards the wooden structure. Kalya slowed to a few paces behind everyone, tapping Oghren's shoulder when the other two were far enough out of earshot.

"Excuse me, um…" She chewed her lip anxiously. "That canteen you have… Could I… have some?"

The dwarf threw his head back, bellowing a great laugh. Up ahead, Zevran spun on his heel and walked backwards a few steps before smiling and twirling back around.

"You lookin' to spend the next few hours on your back?" Oghren asked.

Kalya's face again flushed red, but she forced a scrunched frown. "I've had Dwarven Ale before."

He shook the canteen. "This ain't ale. It's Dwarven Moonshine." Oghren narrowed his eyes. "I'll give you a capful. If it gets ya loopy, tell Leliana you… have vertigo or somethin'."

He stopped in his tracks, carefully poured clear liquid into the canteen's cap, then handed it to her with a wide grin. It wasn't much, but sure enough, when Kalya emptied it into her mouth, the liquid burned everything it touched. Forcing her throat to swallow, she felt fire all the way down before she doubled over coughing and sputtering.

Oghren clapped her on the back with a yelping laugh, and she nearly tipped forward.

"First elf I've seen get it all down. It usually ends up all over the front of their leathers. Well, it still could…"

She choked out a thanks and started forward as the dwarf continued sniggering.

The effects weren't immediate, but Oghren had been correct. This was like no ale she'd ever tasted. After a few trips back and forth from the windmill with heavy wooden pallets in tow, the whole feeling-sorry-for-herself gloom was eclipsed by warm, buzzing nothingness. A bit _more_ nothingness would have been nice, but Kalya welcomed the deadening sensation all the same.

Some time later, the skeleton of a barricade began to take shape, barring the path from the castle to the town below. Drenched with sweat and about to head back for another load of scraps, the group paused when Teagan and Tomas rounded the bend with a heavy satchel stretched between them.

"I wasn't sure of your preferences, so I grabbed an assortment." The pack hit the dusty ground in a metallic clank. Longswords, rapiers, a few bows and a quiver, a jumble of daggers of varying lengths unrolled from the length of leather. The pack must have weighed 50 kilograms. Zevran was the first to lean forward and grasp a shortsword, nearly hypnotized with reverence. The weapons were worn from use, but it was obvious they were more valuable than anything they'd used in years.

Kalya grasped a pair of thick daggers that were surprisingly light. The grip felt like it had been custom-made for her small hands. She tested its weight, flipping it end over end, but almost missed snatching it out of the air when her eyes lost focus. A rush of adrenaline coursed through her veins, bolstered by the liquor and anticipation of the fight. She licked her lips, her sulking tamped down as far as she could keep it. Tonight was going to be fun.

Zevran lifted his head to Teagan, all but batting his eyelashes in awe. "Are you quite sure you don't mind us smearing the entrails of undead on your heirlooms?"

The man beamed a hopeful smile, his eyes betraying only a hint of wariness. "If – when we're successful tonight, you lot can keep them. We'll be forever indebted."

Zevran and Kalya exchanged a glance before raising their chosen weapons. Teagan turned to Leliana, who bowed deeply.

"Thank you, ser, but my bow is sufficient. Oghren?"

The dwarf nodded with a grunt, patting the battleaxe strapped to his back.

Teagan's eyebrows raised suddenly, remembering, and turned to the man next to him. "Tomas, do you have the vials?"

The archer fumbled in his pack a moment, procured two thick bottles, and handed them to Zevran and Kalya.

"I hope you won't mind; these are Lesser Potions," Teagan explained. "There's more in the bag, but I rather thought we ought to keep them in case… well, we might need them later tonight."

Kalya nodded to the man and downed the bottle's contents. Two sensations overtook her simultaneously. The raw flesh on her wrists, the dull throb in her spine slid almost completely away in a refreshing rush. _And_ everything in her field of vision suddenly crisped, as if hyper-focused. The weight on her heart, worry and shame, flooded back so fast, she almost shuddered. Blinking, it took her a few moments to realize that the potion had also cleared… whatever solace the tiny sip of alcohol had brought to her.

Zevran lowered into a deep bow. "You are too kind, ser. Thank you for this and for the weapons."

"The absolute least I can do." Teagan turned towards the barricade. "This looks like a great start. There are more pallets on the edge of town, if I can help you fortify."

For hours, the group continued ferrying slabs of wood to thicken the barricade. It was sweaty labor. Teagan bordered on looking ridiculous when he rolled up the sleeves of his noble regalia, but Kalya knew it would have taken twice as long without his and Tomas' help.

The sun cast long shadows by the time the barricade finally took shape. The townsfolk excused themselves for a late meeting down below while Leliana and Zevran headed for a storage area said to contain a few barrels of oil. Nothing like a barricade of fire to slow their enemies… _if_ it worked and didn't simply reduce the pallets to ashes, leaving them to fight a horde of flaming undead.

Kalya sidled up to Oghren where he rested against the huge boulder. He belched when she approached.

"Any way you could, uh, spare some more of your drink?"

He swiveled his head up to meet her eyes, studying her with something between suspicion and disbelief. She dipped her eyes.

"The health potion, uh… I don't know what it did, but I-I'll pay you back… as soon as I have something."

His eyes narrowed before he bellowed another laugh.

"You're getting interesting." This time, he handed her the full canteen. "No need to pay back a couple sips. Bodahn makes this in the back of his cart every night."

Mouth watering, she gingerly unscrewed the cap. Oghren held up a finger in warning.

"Don't be a hero. No more than a mouthful, all right?"

She nodded and tipped the skin back. Bracing for the burn helped, and she downed three swallows in short order before she was set back on a fit of coughing. Oghren wheezed with laughter as he took the canteen back.

"Nothing like a little liquid courage to bolster a fight against the undead, eh?"

When Kalya caught her breath, she crashed back against the rock next to Oghren, happy to do nothing until the others returned. She already felt lighter, looser. Rolling her head around her neck felt positively heavenly, tight muscles finally letting go of their hold enough to give her joints a satisfying pop.

She had missed the light dizziness, the fuzzy quality on the edges of the world. Even breathing felt a little easier, and she took in as much mountain air as her lungs would allow. In a weird way, the sensation was energizing. After so many nights of fearing enemy encounters while confined by ropes, the fight ahead couldn't come soon enough. She needed to kill something.

Zevran and Leliana rounded the tight curve in the mountain bend carrying a barrel of oil between them. When Kalya kicked off the wall to help them, she stutter-stepped, the sudden blood flow catching her coordination by surprise.

"Careful there, kid." She could hear the dwarf's smile in his words behind her. "We've still got a battle to survive."

She wasn't much help lugging the great barrel. Zevran sniffed her when she approached, raised an eyebrow, and insisted they had it. When they reached the barricade, Leliana torqued off the lid with a blade, and the two saturated the wooden pallets.

The sudden scent of cooked mutton set Kalya's stomach growling angrily. She hadn't realized how ravenously hungry she was. Teagan and Tomas rounded the bend, carrying huge haunches of meat in each hand with wide smiles.

"You lot must be starving," Teagan said as he distributed the haunches. "The militia broke for dinner hours ago." With a wary smile, he tipped his head to the setting sun in the distance. "It won't be long now, so eat up, as much as you can. We can fetch more if you need it."

Feeling Zevran's eyes on her, Kalya made an over-careful beeline back to the boulder, then plopped down against it, tearing ravenously into the haunch of meat. Sure enough, the elf sauntered over and sat next to her, pulling long strips off with his hand and eating them slowly.

After a few moments' silence, he turned to her.

"Kalya, I'm almost afraid to ask, but I know self-destructive behavior well. Are you all right?"

She hoped the mouthful of food would mask any thickness in her speech. "Yes? Why would you be afraid to ask?"

"So you're a happy drunk now? That's a switch."

She swallowed and narrowed her eyes into a sharp scowl. "Fuck you."

A meager smile quirked the corners of his lips. "That does seem to be the theme when you're inebriated, if you're offering. Some cardio might sober you right up." He leaned against the rock, dropping another strip into his mouth.

"I can't celebrate not being a prisoner anymore?" Kalya fought against sounding like a whining child, mostly successfully, she hoped.

Zevran's features sharpened, any hint of teasing gone. "We should celebrate _surviving_ the night." He looked towards the narrow path leading from the castle. "Undead don't respond to feints and weaving quite like the living. The Drunken Orlesian doesn't work on those with no mind to calculate with."

"I'll be fine," she said, tipping her canteen into her mouth. When his jaw dropped incredulously, she lifted the skin and shook it at him. "It's water!"

Resigned defeat lowered his gaze to the ground in front of her. "If there's anything at all I can do." Then he nodded and rose from her side, wandering towards the noble.

Kalya rolled her eyes and leaned back against the cold rock. She bit into the meat, ravenous enough to eat three more haunches. The food, she hoped, would help soak up the excess dizziness she hadn't anticipated from her scant few gulps of moonshine – just enough to leave her with nothing but raw savagery and adrenaline. That's all she needed.

Deep pinks and purples soon streaked the clouds over distant mountaintops. Leliana and Teagan conferred near the barricade while the others jumped and stretched, burning nervous energy. Kalya happened a glance towards the castle path to see it darkened… and moving. Tomas noticed it too.

"B-Bann Teagan? My lady?"

Teagan turned towards the oncoming army and unsheathed his sword. The group got into battle position as Leliana sparked flint at the end of her fire arrow.

"On your command, my lord," she said, drawing the bowstring taut.

"Hold steady." The undead were faster than Kalya had expected. Her heart rabbited with an equal mix of terror and excitement. They were close enough to smash clean through in minutes. Why wasn't he giving the order?

"Now!" Teagan roared.

Leliana's bolt fired straight into the barricade's base, and it lit up like the noonday sun. The undead advanced with surprising speed, mindlessly lumbering against the blazing pallets until their legs gave way, their tattered flesh burning to a crisp.

Kalya tightened her grip on the twin daggers, her eyes narrowing into a sick smile. The bonfire cauterized any remaining trepidation. She could wait no longer. When the first of the flaming undead made its way around one edge of the barricade, she broke rank and descended upon it before her companions could stop her.


	41. Attack at Nightfall

Zevran lunged after Kalya, but it was too late.

The elf ran low to the ground, ignoring the yells of her comrades. Only one Undead had made it through an opening on the left side of the barricade, but more would surely follow. Before it even took notice of her approach, Kalya juked behind it and slammed her blade into the back of its crumbling skull.

Exhilaration surged through her veins.

When a freakishly tall corpse began making its way through the same narrow slit, a wild idea took hold. Kalya darted towards the structure and bounded off a smoldering plank, airborne enough to drive her dagger into the top of the creature’s head. As it crumbled to the ground, so did the precarious balance of wood on the left side. Landing wrong in the smoking rubble sent Kalya stumbling backwards and turned her ankle. It would probably hurt later, but the thrill of the fight numbed her.

A few planks skittered down off the steep mountain path, but the barricade stayed in place, albeit a bit lower than it had been.

Kalya was taking stock of her handiwork when an arm jerked her away from the blaze. Zevran glowered at her as she tested weight on her leg. Good enough for an evening’s battle.

“ _Braska_ ,” he muttered through clenched teeth. “Have you got a death wish?”

Kalya licked sweat from her upper lip. “Sealed the gap, didn’t I?”

Teagan shouted, planted a few meters from the center of the barricade. “Heroic as that was, we need to stay in formation!” He raised his greatsword to the sky. “Behind me! More could break through at any moment.”

Zevran and Kalya exchanged a muted glance before making their way behind the Bann. The center was the last place anyone should be positioned, least of all the closest to royalty.

“He’s our lieutenant for the evening,” muttered Zevran under the moans of the Undead.

Kalya side-eyed the human’s near-flawless armor and classical but impractical battle stance. “Who’s lieutenant when he gets himself killed? Is he gonna _fight_ from there? They’ll flank him in seconds.”

“Terrible orders are not for us to question.”

“Shame. He seems like a nice guy.”

The Undead staggered mindlessly into the flames, pinging off the planks and back again. Some fell down the steep ridge as they lost control of their charred limbs. Others collapsed where they stood, which _would_ have made for an effective organic barricade, if their already decrepit corpses weren’t so quickly charring to ashes.

It was the right side that opened next. Tomas yelped as a stream of lumbering dead made their way through the side he was defending.

Although they were positioned on embankments at either side of the ridge’s mouth, both Tomas and Leliana could be easily overwhelmed if the others couldn’t hold the line.

“Now! Push forward!” Teagan shouted, likely not noticing that Oghren and the elves were already on their way.

Encased in flames, the Undead shuffled towards Tomas, but Kalya’s shouts drew their attention. She herded three into a clump, ducked behind them and drove her daggers into the bases of their skulls. Another flaming corpse lunged at her from behind, grazing her shoulder. His head snapped back an instant later as an arrow pierced his eye. She nodded to the archer and shrugged the charred flesh from where it seared into her shoulder.

“Kalya, catch!” Tomas lobbed a Lesser Potion her way.

“No!” she shouted. “I’m fine!” She caught the bulbous bottle while still holding her blade and lobbed it back, but the thick knife handle messed with her accuracy. The potion smashed on the ground.

Zevran and Tomas gaped at her, horrified. Oghren buried his face in the palm of his hand.

“I… Please, I’ll let you know if I need a potion!”

The Undead continued their onslaught on the right side, and Kalya spun back around, taking on two for every one Tomas could kill.

With a hollow creak, the left side of the barricade finally collapsed flat, and corpses began to stream through, now faster than on the other side. In the distance, shadows still poured nonstop from the castle gates. Zevran abandoned his position to help cork the left side.

“Zevran, no!” Teagan ordered. “Support Tomas and Kalya.”

Kalya drove her knives into the temples of two more Undead, dissent on her tongue, but Zevran beat her to it.

“My lord!” She could barely hear his shouts over the crackling of flames. “I think _this_ side needs –”

“We’ve got the left! Listen for my command! I’ll call you back when we need you!”

Kalya could read the opposition on his face from a dozen meters away, but the elf sprinted towards her with a shake of his head. Back to back, the two quickly dispensed with a swarming nest of corpses.

The gap on the right side had widened so much that only one in three Undead were aflame, which made them slower to deteriorate, but easier to brawl. Not every one needed a blast to the head. Occasionally, they simply pushed the shambling corpses off the ridge or swept at their ankles to stomp them where they fell.

“Waves of enemies” was a fairly typical training scenario for the two Crows, but it didn’t scale to a literal army of Undead. Fighting the onslaught at full force would exhaust the six of them in hours, and Tomas was the least experienced of them all.

“Tomas, hold your arrows!” Kalya hissed, hoping Teagan didn’t hear her issuing commands. “Catch your breath!”

The man’s leathers were soaked, and he was shaking, though he was dozens of meters from the melee. He nodded with a gulp, glancing at Teagan. She stopped herself pointing out that excess trembling would weaken him further.

“As soon as he’s good, cover the left!” she shouted at Zevran. “You _know_ I’ve got this.”

Zevran looked back at Teagan, pursing his lips. Oghren had pivoted to slice through two Undead about to attack Teagan from behind. “We should follow orders.”

“Even if it gets us killed?” Four Undead shuffled toward the elves.

Zevran smirked as he dropped his weight into battle stance. “New lot on life, remember? _I’m_ dying of old age.”

Without another word, they both lunged at the front two, knocking them into the back two, kneeling with lithe precision to pierce each of their skulls.

A savage war cry erupted to their left. Oghren spun with a brutal berserker attack, sending limbs and coagulated globs of blood flying. But the noise attracted more attention to the already overwhelmed battle station. Corpses beyond the barricade who had been headed for Kalya’s side began lumbering towards the cacophony.

For the moment, Teagan was holding his own. His proficiency with a greatsword surprised Kalya. With practiced skill, he picked off enemies by shuffle-stepping in a circle until a cluster formed. Then he arced his great weapon and beheaded the remaining lot of them.

It was impressive to watch, but the waves of Undead still had the advantage of sheer numbers.

Leliana’s arrows slowed as sweat sheened her face. But she persisted, loosing several arrows at once to make up for her drop in speed.

Oghren continued his rampage frighteningly close to the barricade’s opening. Teagan had ordered him there as the only way to cork the flow, but one false move, and the dwarf would be overcome by the stream of corpses. When a brief lull allowed him to catch his breath, Kalya swore his leathers and beard were singed.

Teagan held the line, disposing of Undead stragglers meandering around Oghren or staggering over from the right. But even the most dexterous of warriors couldn’t keep that level of fight up for long. The horde began pushing him farther and farther from the barricade, farther from Oghren’s protection.

“Oi!”

Kalya spun to see Tomas wobbling to his feet. Pale though he was, his face was set with resolve, arrow notched. Zevran rose from a fresh kill. He saw Tomas back on his feet and nodded pointedly at Kalya. There was only one way this battle would end with the six of them alive.

“Teagan!” Kalya shouted. “We have to let some of them through!”

“We can’t risk bringing the fight to the town!” He split a corpse from collar to navel, but as he jerked his greatsword free, a shudder exposed his waning strength. “Hold the line, I beg of you!”

The right corridor of the barricade crumbled a bit more. Kalya and Zevran surged forward to tamp the flow, dipping and slashing nearly as one. It would have been an impressive feat, if it weren’t so inconsequential. Undead poured as liquid from the castle gates. There was no stopping them.

A lunging corpse knocked into Kalya, but she planted her feet just as Zevran plunged a knife into its eye socket. Chest heaving, Zevran raised his chin towards the left corridor.

She turned to see Oghren still wreaking destruction at the corridor’s left opening, but the Undead that staggered around him had formed a writhing swarm around Teagan. Bolt after bolt made contact all around the noble, but Leliana’s attacks were just barely keeping the dead at bay, just barely keeping Teagan from joining them.

Kalya had already begun darting towards Teagan when an Undead swiped his face with yellowed fingernails. The trickle of blood sent the horde into a frenzy. Aimless shuffling turned to targeted rage, and Teagan’s head dipped below the mob.

Bounding over incapacitated but still-moving bodies that littered the ground, Kalya reached him just in time to rip off a corpse that had pinned him. Its stinking maw was still wide as she twisted its head from its spinal column. From a crouch, she sprung diagonally forward, arms wide, tackling the midsections of two large Undead. It bought a few precious moments on one side. Teagan staggered to his feet to behead the swarm on his other side, and the two fought to regain ground as the masses kept coming.

When Kayla had sliced through the last Undead in their immediate vicinity, she wiped congealed blood from her cheek with the heel of her hand and turned to Teagan, panting and furious.

Before she could say a word, Teagan focused over her left shoulder, horrified. She spun, her gaze landing immediately on Zevran, who was slicing frantically and methodically through another frenzied horde. But he was moving _away_ from the barricade, toward…

The guttural cry that pierced the air over the din of groans was unlike anything Kalya had ever heard. Stabbing a man in the gut apparently had nothing on ripping one apart while he was still alive. The place where Tomas had stood just moments ago was now a writhing nest of Undead. In her peripheral vision, she saw Teagan start towards him, but she grabbed his wrist.

“He’s gone! Teagan!” The man spun, eyes staring wide. Kalya drew him close as corpses lumbered by. “Teagan, he’s gone. We need to retreat or –”

“We had to try.” He shook his head, panting. “We knew it was futile, but we had to try. We were the first line of defense.”

Kalya pushed his head to the side and drove her dagger up through the chin of an approaching Undead.

“But we’re not the _only_ defense. Teagan, look around. We’re cannon fodder. Didn’t you wonder why Elissa didn’t want _you_ fighting up here?”

His eyes finally locked onto hers, focused and clear. An instant later, another Undead lunged forward, nearly biting into the man’s neck. Kalya stutter-stepped in shock before slamming her knife into its temple. Silently cursing herself for providing the opening, she circled Teagan, taking position back-to-back against him.

“I had to keep the fight from town,” he shouted over his shoulder. “Our people aren’t warriors. We have a militia, but it’s been so long…”

“If we die holding the line, the fight goes to town anyway, _and_ they’ve lost their leader.”

“Their leader’s fool _brother_ ,” the man corrected. “We can only pray their leader and his family are still safe inside the castle walls.”

Teagan pierced the midsections of two Undead then kicked their bodies away, his greatsword nearly black with congealed blood. He was no fool, but grief and shame had a way of driving novice commanders to distraction. She spun around him, knelt, and drove her daggers into their eye sockets.

To their right, Zevran roared a war cry. Kalya nearly missed seeing him leap into the rat’s nest of corpses where Tomas had just been standing. Did he not _just_ say he planned to die of old age?

“Tea—My lord, we can survive this.” Her head pounded with dissipating alcohol and adrenaline. She wasn’t made for manipulation, but the town needed their leader…’s brother, whoever. And she needed him to feel in command, even if the plan was hers. “If you order a retreat to the windmill, we’ll pick off what we can from the side, conserving enough energy to fight until morning. Trust the militia and Wardens to handle the rest.”

His gaze searched hers, hesitant.

Kalya gulped hard. The promise behind her lips hurt to admit, but it was the truth. “The Wardens will save your town, I swear it. This is what they _do_.”

With sudden resolve, Teagan raised his greatsword and bellowed the order to regroup. Leliana pivoted expertly from offensive attacks to covering Oghren, surrounded by a pandemonium of his own creation. As they retreated, Kalya hacked a path towards a grateful Zevran. The deadly arcs of his shortswords were just barely keeping the frenzied dead at bay.

When they finally reached the windmill, Kayla saw why Zevran had leapt into the snarling mass. Tomas’ satchel of Lesser Potions hung low around his neck. The group solemnly grabbed a bottle each. Once they’d replenished a fraction of their weariness, Zevran tucked the bag behind one of the windmill’s blades. Not enough left over to cure a mortal wound, but possibly enough to stave off exhaustion.

The break didn’t last long, but it was all they needed.

The party jumped back into the fray as one, ripping through corpses on the periphery like stalks of grass. Teagan hid his concern poorly, as the bulk of the Undead surged through to the town below, but he didn’t let it affect his technique. Head and heart sharpened by the potion, Kalya tried not to think of how the man would break if her promise didn’t hold true.

But first, they had to survive the night.

:::

Alistair woke with a start, clutching his bedclothes. He rubbed focus into his eyes and tried to slow his breathing. The scene around him looked all at once relaxing and… wrong. Weren’t they just in danger? No, it… it must have been the dream. Just a dream of times past.

Hazy sun peeked through the curtains, warming the thick-quilted bed. He shook his head, feeling quite foolish, and smiled down at his love who murmured as she curled around him in the sheets. The nightmare all but forgotten, Alistair was suddenly overcome with a sense of happiness, of belonging. Of home.

He tucked a loose tendril of hair around his love’s ear, kissed her gingerly on the temple, then slipped out of bed. Breakfast in bed was in order, and he was going to make her favorite – eggs, a slice of cheese, grilled ham, and a crust of bread. Double that for him. Extra cheese.

Outside, the sun was nearly at its peak. Maker, it was nice not to have to wake at dawn. Still, he could swear he hadn’t felt this rested in a while.

“Awake at last?” Goldanna pursed her lips, but a smile betrayed her sisterly warmth. “I hope the children didn’t wake you, but they do get rowdy around _lunchtime_.”

He rubbed the back of his neck with a guilty smirk. “My turn to do the washing, wasn’t it?”

“You know, the sixth time it happens, I’ll swear you’re sleeping in on purpose.”

“Tell you what.” He clapped his hands on his sister’s shoulders. “I was just about to make br– lunch. Why don’t you and the kids take a load off, and I’ll take down the washing _and_ fold it all by supper.”

Goldanna tossed him a wicker basket with a laugh. “Are you sure you’ll be able to stand being away from your wife that long?”

Alistair snatched it out of the air. “Oh, I was going to fold it in the barn while she trained. You don’t mind when clean clothes smell like horses, do you?”

His sister scrunched her nose at him, then blinked at something just beyond his shoulder.

Alistair spun around to find Elissa standing in full armor just a few paces away. How had he not heard her approach? Wait, did she– He eyed the door he’d just come from. No, still closed. 

He cocked his head to the side, looking like a confused mabari. “Elissa, how… Wait, what are you doing in our old Grey Warden armor?”


	42. Lost in Dreams

Kalya parried the longsword on its hip-high swing, then pushed down on it with all her might. She didn’t weigh much, but it distracted her opponent just enough for his balance to shift forward. His chin jutted out and down, and she met his jaw with a roundhouse kick.

“Um, ow?” Alistair rubbed his chin with a wounded expression. He turned to their trainer. “Did Duncan define sparring differently to you two? Templars aren’t supposed to land blows in _training_.”

Riordan looked up from the dagger he was sharpening. “Duncan would have recommended sparring in armor. Like I did.”

Kalya jumped from left foot to right, stretching out her limbs, completely energized. “You won’t get any pity from him. This is the man who had me train in plate armor so my leathers would be weightless by comparison.”

“Bet you couldn’t roundhouse in plate armor,” Alistair muttered under his breath with a smirk. 

“What was that?” Kalya closed the distance between them, chest puffed out. “Huh? I could roundhouse you while standing on a Glyph of Paralysis.”

“Could you now?” Alistair took her into his arms, and she all but melted against him. “Has anyone told you how beautiful you look when you’re all tough like that? Sometimes I think you’ve cast a Glyph of Paralysis on my heart.”

Riordan paused his sharpening without looking up, then let out a long breath.

Kalya cocked her head to one side. “That’s…possibly the least romantic thing you’ve ever said to me.” 

“Right,” he scratched the back of his neck absently. “It sounded better in my head.”

Riordan rose and hung the glinting dagger on the barn wall.

“I’m going to wash up before supper. Will you untack the horses when you’re through, er, sparring?”

Kalya saluted her fellow Grey Warden as he made his way towards the house.

The minute Riordan was out of sight, Alistair had her shoulders pinned at arm’s length against one of the barn’s thick support beams.

“Try that roundhouse again,” he said, his voice suddenly a low growl. Kalya obliged, and he caught her leg at its highest point in the air, pressing himself against her. Even in their practice leathers, she could feel every inch of him, and his mischievous smirk told her he knew it.

Alistair captured Kalya’s mouth in his, and she snaked her arm around his neck, sifting her fingers through his sandy-blonde hair. One thought alone crystalized in her mind, swimming though it was with want and bliss: she finally, _finally_ had everything she’d fought for so long to achieve.

She closed her eyes, wholly content, and let out a soft moan that spurred her love to press harder against her.

A woman cleared her throat.

Kalya’s eyes snapped open. Alistair let out an un-Alistair snarl as he turned to face... Elissa Cousland. And another Alistair, who was rubbing his hands together, face quite red, squinting everywhere else in the barn besides directly in front of him.

“Well, this is awkward,” her Alistair said.

Kalya’s cheeks burned as she raced through potential explanations. Magic, obviously, but how? An apostate casting a vision? Had Morrigan dropped by, back from… Wait, when had she last seen Morrigan?

Her hand curled around the blade tucked into her belt. Stories of The Evil Mage using mind control and possession had appropriately terrified young elves in the Alienage, and she’d never felt quite comfortable amongst Crows with such “gifts.” But even without understanding the situation, she could tell a battle was imminent, and, oh, how she wanted be the one to land the blow on Demon Elissa.

Elissa sighed. “Kalya, you might want to step away from…” She waved her hand impatiently, “… _that_ Alistair.”

“I think she’s fine where she is.”

“Maker, do I really sound like that?” The second Alistair finally made eye contact with Kalya and his duplicate.

Elissa drew her sword. “We don’t have time for this.”

Kalya’s Alistair did the same. “Do you remember Riordan’s Golden Bridge defense?” he asked over his shoulder, not breaking eye contact with the other Wardens.

“I was thinking more like the Pointed Beak,” she said without thinking, but before she could open her mouth to correct herself – it was a Crow move, not one Alistair would have known – he nodded in agreement with a smirk.

“Kalya,” the second Alistair pleaded as she revealed her knives. “Do you remember the Battle at Redcliffe? Then the castle, and Teagan acting all weird?”

“That was ages ago,” she spat. A demon could access memories. Probably. That meant nothing. Her face set with resolve, she glanced at the closest Alistair for the signal to strike.

“And the Circle of Magi? Guy named Jowan? That’s where your memories end, isn’t it?”

“Enough!” her Alistair growled, his voice suddenly reverberating with echoes. She shook her head to clear it just as the man surged forward. Sparks rained down when the two Alistairs clashed swords.

Kalya sprang to action. It felt wrong, but she wasn’t about to let Elissa land the first blow. Blades crisscrossed, she caught Elissa’s forward thrust, redirected it over her own head, then spun in close to the woman’s torso. With one blade keeping the sword away, she jabbed the other into the weak spot under one pauldron, but it glanced off the Warden’s chain mail.

Warriors were shit at both long-range and uncomfortably close, so Kalya was caught by surprise when Elissa slammed her helmet into her own uncovered forehead. For a moment, she saw only a field of stars. Elissa followed with a heavy boot into Kalya’s solar plexus, knocking the wind out of her as she staggered back a few meters.

Alistair caught her – _her_ Alistair, since the one in old Grey Warden gear now stood next to Elissa, wiping blood from the corner of his mouth. She was about to wrench free and launch off the barn’s support beam when he pinned her arms tight behind her.

“I can fight them!” Kalya shouted. “She’s mine!”

Elissa stormed forward, sword pointed at Kalya’s neck. Second Alistair took position behind her, looking warily at his advancing commander.

“If you’ve made it this far, you know it doesn’t have to be like this.” Alistair’s voice resumed its echoes as Kalya writhed in his grip.

“Alistair, let me go!”

Doubt swam through Kalya’s thoughts, grasping for something sure to hold onto. She’d woken this morning, eaten breakfast, then come to train. Just like every day, for months. Right?

Alistair had mentioned the Circle of Magi, but that seemed half as long ago as her time in Highever. She remembered the boat trip to Kinloch Hold, crossing that unusually choppy lake. But… had there been no trip back? They’d made it upstairs. There was a sloth demon, and then… nothing. Her stomach dropped like a stone. He was right.

Grief and shame washed over her, numbing her body. It was all a lie. How many months of memories, forged in her every desire?

“She _wants_ to be here.” The smugness in his voice prickled her skin. He turned towards Elissa. “You would deny your friend a life of paradise? You know, Love, I can read _your_ desires, too.”

Elissa pursed her lips and ventured a shrug at the Alistair next to her.

“Absolutely not!” he shouted, incredulous.

“Ooh, and listen to _your_ desires,” Demon Alistair nodded to his counterpart. His voice dripped with mock concern. “Does _she_ know?”

That was it. She didn’t _want_ to know – that is, if he even meant _her_. There would be time to mourn this false life later.

Kalya squared her hips, grinding her backside into the demon as she planted her feet solid.

“Oh? Right here, in front of the Maker and everyone? Sure, I can do two things at once.”

She dropped her weight and bucked her hips back, lifting the demon off his feet from below his center of gravity. He was heavier than the true Alistair. She couldn’t support his weight for long, but the instant off his feet took him by surprise. When his feet touched back down, he stumbled forward, and they both fell flat on the barn floor.

“Kalya, curl!” bellowed Other Alistair. She obeyed as best she could, digging her chin and her knees into the sandy barn floor. Demonic chuckles still echoed in her ear, and she pulled tight on his tangle of limbs wrapped around her, trapping him.

Something slammed into the mass on her back with a wet crack. For a horrifying moment, the echoing ceased, and all Kalya could hear was Alistair crying out in pain. Shivers ran down her spine. She squeezed her eyes shut, willing it to be another of the Demon’s tricks, before Alistair’s voice croaked out a sickening gurgle, whispered her name, then went silent.

In the eerie calm, she remained in the fetal position, holding in a breath. Ichor dripped down on her.

Finally, someone kicked the weight off her back. It slumped to her side.

Kalya took a deep breath and shakily got to her feet. Venturing a look at the demon crumpled on the ground was the wrong thing to do. Something about this world – the Fade, she now knew, which was fraying, wisping at the edges – kept the demon in Alistair’s form, even in death. The blow from the sword had cut nearly all the way through his neck, and his lifeless eyes stared right through her, frozen in a plea for her help. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. It was exactly how Alistair would look if she failed fighting by his side.

Suddenly dizzy, she turned away and retched, hands grasping her knees. Nothing came out. Outside the dream world, she probably hadn’t eaten in days. When Kalya stood back up, Elissa was rolling her eyes, wiping ichor off her blade with a thin scrap of leather.

Alistair reached out and touched Kalya’s shoulder.

“Bit unsettling to watch yourself get murdered,” he said through a lopsided grin. “I probably should have dealt the blow myself, for his insult to my ear shape alone. Do they really stick out like that?”

Kalya followed his gesture to the demon’s head, then blinked away.

“Sorry. That was…” He cleared his throat.

Elissa was already marching off.

“Right then.” Alistair eyed the weapons hanging on the barn walls, then shrugged. “Shame we can’t take them with us. When we get to the next dream, you’ll just have your, er, regular leathers on. Just one more, Elissa?”

“That’s my guess.” The Grey Warden’s form began dissolving into the grass behind the barn. “The others were in a side room when the demon trapped us, but you three were with me.”

They followed her into the tall grass, scratchy at first, then fuzzing away into nothingness.

Kalya searched her memories as the world faded around her. She remembered fighting alongside Leliana, but when she’d heard Alistair shout, she surged ahead into the next room. Who else had been in there?

:::

Kalya immediately recognized their surroundings – rather, the surroundings the Fade was projecting. The cobbled back-alley streets of Denerim at night. She’d been taken along this labyrinthine path to train for the Crows – back before she even understood what the training was for.

The cowl she’d been wearing, found on a corpse back on Lake Calenhad, had materialized back around her when the dream did, along with Teagan’s gifted armor and daggers.

She knew whose dream this was before she even heard the muffled sobs echoing from a side street.

Kalya hugged the wall, melting into the shadows, as the three approached the cries. The urge to rush to Zevran’s side, to console him in an embrace, tugged at her, but she didn’t trust herself not to be fooled by a Demon Zevran and have to choose again which one to murder. Maker, she hated the bloody Fade.

Elissa crept forward delicately, suspicious of the silence, but before she reached the corner, she slipped on a round cobblestone. Alistair shot out an arm for support, but then nearly fell himself. When Kalya followed their eyes to the ground, she could just barely make out rivulets of dark blood seeping between the stones.

Elissa and Alistair shared a glance, drew their weapons, and rounded the corner. Whatever they saw froze them in place. The Wardens scanned the alley, battle ready, but no ambush followed. Only Zevran’s whimpers echoed in the cool night.

Kalya crept along the walls and turned the corner to discover what had stopped them in their tracks.

Corpses littered the ground of the dead-end road. Blood was splattered all over, and the dead lay at unnatural angles, broken like rag dolls.

Only the end of the street was lit by a dim torch. That’s where Zevran sat, crumpled on the ground, sobbing uncontrollably.

Where she’d bloody _trained_ alongside her demon, made _love_ to her demon (keeping _that_ one to herself), Zevran’s demon had clearly come with a different plan.

His wailing made Kalya’s stomach feel leaden. Proud Zevran, who’d successfully hidden his hurt from her for so long. Or maybe she hadn’t cared enough to see the pain written all over his every action, every joke.

Zev had battled his demon, and lost. Only physical, fatal pain would make him howl so unabashedly. And, if the stories elf children shared were true, when you lost in the Fade, you lost in real life.

A sob caught in her throat. She bolted past the Grey Wardens, but an arm shot out to stop her, grabbing her by the wrist. She nearly slipped in all the pooling blood herself, but Alistair righted her and shook his head in warning.

She opened her mouth to protest when Elissa barked out a whisper.

“Let me.” Hushed voices had a way of making orders almost seem compassionate, which was a first. “In our nightmares, there was… a weird feeling when demons approached.”

Zevran’s howls amplified, echoing off the buildings around them. Some crows flapped into the night from the eaves above his head.

“Hurry up,” Kalya hissed. “He’s going to bleed out!”

Elissa maneuvered cautiously around the bodies without looking back.

“Do we think it’s him or Demon Him?” Alistair whispered.

Kalya let out a breath. “I don’t know anymore.”

In the dim light, her eyes had finally adjusted when she glanced down. Shock staggered her back a step. She recognized one of the dead.

Eyes darting to all the bodies whose faces were turned to her, she recognized _all_ the dead. Johann. Reks. Jez. Travella. Turk. Crows who had died in the attack on the Wardens, and those who hadn’t even been there.

Almost all. There was one man she didn’t recognize. Dark hair, a shadow of a beard, Antivan leathers. This one had been stabbed in a particularly savage finishing move she knew Zevran relished.

Zevran’s howls turned to hiccupping whimpers as Elissa approached. He lifted his head slowly, eyes red, revealing a limp, lifeless body in his arms.

“Kill me.” His voice croaked. “It’s my fault. I knew this would come. First Rinna, now her. I loved her. I loved her…” He broke down again, curling around the body.

“Zevran,” Elissa said, hesitant. “It’s not real. We’re in the Fade.”

“It’s real! He swore he’d find her, and he did. I never make it in time. All I see is him slicing…” Sobs wracked him with such force, the body turned in his lap. A limp arm fell free.

It was Kalya.

She sucked in a gasp, staring back into her own dead eyes. Alistair snuck a cautious glance at her before twisting the way they’d come and back again.

“You’re… you, right?”

In the hesitation, she squirmed from his grip and approached Zevran, who was now sobbing into his hands. She threw off the cowl as she passed Elissa, and when he looked up, she slowed, raising her hands defensively.

“Zevran! It’s me. I’m okay, but we have to get out of here. We have to wake up.”

He was quick – too quick for someone with a fatal wound.

His feet kicked out sloppily, scrambling away from her on the slickened stones. Fade Kalya fell completely out of his lap as he stood, stuffing himself into the far corner of the dead-end.

“Must I live this again?” Tears and snot ran down his face. “How many times must I watch you die?” He turned towards Elissa, hysterical. “Just kill me, Demon, and end this torment!”

An undulating whoosh picked up on the wind around them. Elissa, Alistair, and Kalya looked to the sky for the source of the foreign whirring. The crows returned to the eaves… backwards, their caws gasping and wrong. The inky black sky lightened at an unnatural speed.

Zevran whimpered and muttered incomprehensibly to himself as he sunk back down to his knees.

Kalya jumped when the corpses at her feet began to twitch. In halting jerks, they curled back in on themselves, rising unnaturally to their feet. Like they were falling, but in reverse. Rising as if pulled by an unseen force.

Zevran muttered something in Antivan, and right when the corpses – now living humans – began moving around, fighting unseen enemies backwards and sped-up, he raised his eyes to his companions and spoke one word.

“Goodbye.”


	43. Broken Circle

In a jarring blink, Zevran, Kalya, Alistair, and Elissa were back at the mouth of the first alley, the cross-street of the dead end. The dawn sky was an inky purple. Or was it dusk?

Zev jumped when he saw them and staggered back a few steps, crashing against a rough exterior wall.

“Y-You’re still here. I’m usually… This is different.”

Elissa’s eyes narrowed. She opened her mouth, but Kalya spoke first.

“Zevran, what’s –”

She was interrupted by a scream. _Her_ scream, from a street over. It sounded surprised, but not injured, as if an arm had been wrenched just enough out of its socket for a poorly stifled yelp.

Zevran began panting suddenly, invigorated, looking between them and the dead-end alley.

“All right. Yes. Maybe this time…”

“Zev-ran!” Johann’s singsong voice carried around the corner. “I’d _really_ hate to do this without you.” Fade Kalya screamed again, this one more urgent, piercing.

The elf was off, running towards the sound, and the others followed. Even before they rounded the corner, Kalya had a hunch as to what they’d find. She was right.

Shoulder-to-shoulder Crows, all battle-ready and grinning the grins of predators watching their prey fall right into a trap. Zevran’s short-swords were already drawn.

Johann stood at the back of the alley, one arm tight around Fade Kalya’s neck, the other twisting the hilt of a knife stuck under her ribs. He cocked his head with a fatherly smile.

“You brought friends! Kalya, should we show him what happens to his friends?”

“Zevran, run!” Fade Kalya shouted, straining against his grip, which only wrenched the knife in further.

The assassin roared a fevered battle cry and sprang to action, slicing through every Crow before him. His companions followed suit, spreading around him in the narrow alley, mowing down everything in Crow armor that moved.

Kalya battled her former sparring partners, former friends. It was just as unnerving watching Jez die here as it had been in real life, crumpling under Oghren’s sword in the crescent-moon shaped valley.

Disgusting Turk made a beeline for her with a sneer under his shock of red hair. She blasted both her knives into his midsection and ripped them sideways, nearly slicing him in half, just as he’d tried to do to her in the Third Trial.

Two-thirds of the Crows were down. Alistair was dodging an ice attack from Travella when Johann let go of Fade Kalya’s neck just enough to sound a shrill whistle through his fingers.

“A valiant effort, but you know what happens to deserters.” He looked down at the elf in his arms. “Did he ever tell you, Dagger?”

Fade Kalya bucked and squirmed, trying to mule-kick the man behind her.

Johann clucked his tongue. Then he wrenched the blade from Fade Kalya’s side and ran it slick across her throat. He grinned as blood flowed out of her like a yawning smile, coating her leathers and his gauntleted hand.

The distraction was enough to get Alistair and Kalya caught in a Cone of Cold. Her limbs cracked and ached, frozen in place with eyes open wide. Elissa spun from the rogue she was fighting, arced her weapon around her head, and decapitated him and Travella in one swing.

When the magic wore off, Kalya shook feeling back into her limbs and watched Zevran launch himself towards Johann. He slammed his short sword hard into the man’s eye socket, jerking his head backwards. Fade Kalya crumpled to the cobblestones.

Only a few Crows remained standing. The dark-haired man with the bad 5 o’clock shadow chuckled over the moans of the dying Crows. Zev kicked off the wall with another primal roar and landed his savage finishing move, shutting the man right up.

When all was finally quiet, the four survivors stood panting amongst the dead.

Zevran fell to his knees.

With his last ounce of strength, he crawled to Fade Kalya and cradled her lifeless body in his arms.

“I didn’t make it,” he whimpered. “I never make it.”

Kalya looked at the Wardens for a cue. They’d been in more of these Fade Dreams than she had. But Alistair just shook his gauntlet, trying to fling some of the blood off – Crow or Demon or whatever it was. Elissa was listening for something, squinting at the buildings’ high darkened windows.

Sod it. Kalya slowly approached Zevran’s side. She couldn’t just let him cry, but she also didn’t want to startle him… by not being dead. He barely acknowledged her.

“I don’t get it,” Alistair whispered from behind her. “We killed all the demons. Isn’t this when we… poof?”

Overhead, the strange undulating whooshing returned, whipping the winds around them, popping their ears. Crows flew backwards in the sky again, nestling tail-first in the eaves at the end of the alley. The dead rose.

Zevran began wailing uncontrollably, rocking back and forth with Fade Kalya limp in his arms.

:::

Another blink, and the four of them were back at the entrance of the dream. Dusk dwindled in the twilight sky. Fade Kalya yelped in pain.

Zevran began laughing. A raw, frightening laugh, carved from his throat, bubbling into hysterics.

Alistair and Elissa exchanged a worried glance. Kalya ran to Zevran’s side. He clapped an arm around her shoulder, howling, and wiped away tears with the heel of his hand. She tried to steady him, holding his face in her hands to get him to focus on her, but it was no use.

“Zev-ran!” Johann. Again. “I’d _really_ hate to do this without you.” Fade Kalya shrieked, out of sight.

“Com-ing!” Zevran sang back.

He staggered towards the corner, giggling and swaying as if drunk. He was going to get himself killed. How many countless times had he battled over 30 Crows and survived? It had finally broken him, and he was going to die, both in the Fade and asleep on the ground in the Circle of Magi.

Elissa and Alistair drew their weapons and ran, passing him, to take the Crows on before Zevran could fall to their blades or magic.

Kalya had a different plan. She shimmied up the side of the building and ran along the rooftops parallel to the dead-end alley, then hopped left onto the next building, until she was overlooking the top of Johann’s head. And her own.

At the mouth of the alley, Alistair lined the hysterical Zevran behind him, turned, and yelled, “Hey, blond… hair!”

Travella twirled and fired a Cone of Cold in his direction. Alistair ducked out of the way, and Zevran froze in place – no longer a threat to himself. Alistair ran his blade through Travella’s breastbone and returned to battle.

From this vantage, all the Crows were turned towards their attackers. No one saw Kalya dropping silently from the eaves. No one saw her wind up and slam her dagger into Johann’s eye. No one saw him drop Fade Kalya from his arms and sink to the ground like a stone.

Fade Kalya staggered a few steps, steadying herself with an arm against the wall. Kalya sliced off Johann’s belt and tied it tight around her thin avatar, putting pressure against the wound. It wasn’t fatal – or, it wouldn’t be for a few weeks. How long would Zevran be stuck in this dream if Fade Kalya survived the night?

The elf nodded in thanks, clutching the stain under her ribs. It was strange seeing her own lopsided, almost-glaring grin directed at her.

When the Cone of Cold wore off, Zevran made eye contact with the two Kalyas, his spirits bolstered – or, at least, he’d stopped laughing.

He began moving to fight with the Grey Wardens, but he wasn’t nimble enough. His limbs hadn’t fully thawed. When the Crow with the 5 o’clock shadow approached from behind, Zev heard him and spun… right into a serrated blade. It stuck from his stomach, buried to the hilt. The man smiled.

Zevran made no sound as he slammed a knee into the man’s crotch, then kicked him away at the hip. Wrong thing to do. The man spun backwards still gripping the knife. Blood gushed from the wound, staggering Zevran, when Alistair skidded over to finish off the man doubled over in pain.

Before the bearded man was even dead, Kalya was at Zevran’s side. She looped his arm around her back, this time slicing at her own leathers to fashion a tourniquet. Fade Kalya joined them, thrusting a folded scrap of cotton into Kalya’s hands.

When the Crows had all been felled, Elissa and Alistair joined the trio, crestfallen. Even Fade Kalya seemed to know his wound was fatal. If they couldn’t escape this dream and get him to a Potion in the real world soon…

Zevran turned to Kalya – the one he knew to be the real Kalya.

“Thank you,” he choked out, tears pooling again in his eyes. “Thank you.”

His words and the stink of blood hung in the air. They couldn’t share his gratitude.

Alistair eyed Elissa and Kalya awkwardly, his thoughts written plainly on his face. They’d done it. They’d broken the cycle. Kalya looked to the sky. No whooshing. No backwards crows. So why were they still here?

Zevran hacked out a wet cough. Kalya was supporting him, clutching around his hunched chest, when Fade Kalya sheepishly took him in her arms. If she hadn’t been so concerned for her friend, Kalya would have rolled her eyes. But come _on_. Hugs weren’t gonna fix what had been done.

Just then, Kalya felt a weird rumble in her chest that seemed distantly familiar. When she remembered where she’d felt it last, her gaze jerked to Elissa’s. The Warden’s eyes were wide.

It hadn’t been an un-Alistair snarl she’d heard in her own dream, but a deep rumbling within. The Demon revealing itself.

In a blast, Elissa ripped the three elves apart, holding the two Kalyas at arms’ length. Alistair reacted by instinct, grabbing Zevran into a great bear hug, trying to keep from hurting him further and looking entirely unsure of how to proceed.

The elf whipped and flailed in the man’s arms, but gained no purchase. The exertion sent blood seeping from the tamped wound.

“No!” Zevran howled, his tearful eyes pleading with the real Kalya. “It’s different this time! It’s different with you!”

Elissa held Fade Kalya by the throat, ignoring her whimpered begging. “Please! Zevran tell her! Alistair, it’s me. How can you do this?”

Alistair looked truly torn, closing his eyes and muttering, “You’re a demon, you’re a demon, you’re a demon. Maker, give me strength.”

Zevran continued pleading with Kalya, his words running together, nonsensical. But _was_ it? Something about his supplication tugged at the back of her mind, begging to be fitted with the missing piece. 

Elissa raised her sword, aiming to behead the dreamt elf, when Kalya screamed, “Wait!”

“Do you really not get how this works?” Elissa boomed, freezing her broadsword in place.

“Zevran,” Kalya asked, “have you ever saved her?”

“Yes! Yes!” Though, from his wild eyes, he looked like he’d say anything to stop this madness.

“How?” 

“I-I darted straight for Johann at the start and slit his throat. But while I was fighting off the rest, Talisen got around me and killed you himself.” His voice broke at the end. “But everything still reset. Again, again, again…”

Talisen. The grinning dark-haired assassin.

The piece snapped into place. Kalya bit her lip. Zevran was dead if she was wrong, but it made a sick sort of sense.

“Elissa, you can’t… I think it has to be him.”

Four heads snapped towards hers. Fade Kalya’s eyes were an angry void.

“No.” Zevran shook his head vigorously. “No, no, no, no, no…” He was near hyperventilating. Alistair held the elf tighter.

Elissa kept Fade Kalya tightly gripped around the neck, but the Warden Commander lowered her sword.

Kalya continued. “We already _know_ what happens when someone else kills... her. And if _we_ kill her, he’s not going to survive this thing looping again.” 

Fade Kalya was whipping around, her fists scrabbling at Elissa’s gauntleted hand encircling her neck. Zevran kept whimpering, growing weaker from blood loss every second.

Elissa grit her teeth. “You didn’t kill _your_ demon.”

“My dream ended with,” she gulped – she hated that she gulped, “watching Alistair die. My nightmare was just _seeing_ it. But Zev’s was a nightmare from the start, about… this being his fault.”

Alistair nodded slowly. “So it ends when it really is.” He let out a deep breath. “I hope you’re right.”

Zevran fell forward when Alistair loosened his grip. The warrior jerked to catch him, hooking his hands under the elf’s arms. He gingerly placed the short sword in Zevran’s hand.

“You cannot…” His sniffling breaths came in short bursts. “You cannot know what you’re asking me to do.”

Elissa held Fade Kalya at arm’s length. The demon writhed and twisted, eyes wide.

“Zevran, no! Please don’t do this! Please don’t listen. They’re all dead now. We can run away. Finally. We outlasted them. Zevran, please.”

“Zevran, please,” Kalya said. “We don’t have much time.”

He looked back and forth between the two Kalyas pleading in identical voices echoing around him. If he wasn’t broken before, when his nightmare began anew, he was now. The sword dropped from his hand, and his eyes took on a far-off gaze, lost. Resigned. He crumpled, dead weight in Alistair’s arms, and the man stagger-stepped to keep the elf upright.

His color wasn’t right. Even in the Fade, his skin took on a slick grey pallor. For an instant, she wondered if they would _all_ be stuck in the Fade if Zevran died, before her stomach churned at the thought of him gone.

Kalya snatched the short sword off the ground, putting all delicacy and pragmatism aside, and got up in the hysterical elf’s face.

“Zevran! Listen to me! Zevran.” She thrust a finger in Fade Kalya’s tear-stained face. “She’s going to kill me. She’s going to kill all of us.”

She grabbed his hand and pressed it against her breastbone. Then she placed the sword into his palm and closed his fingers around the grip.

“ _You_ can save us. You made it in time. It’s different with me here. I promise it’s different.”

Zevran’s eyes darted between hers, searching, spilling over with tears. Finally, he closed them, took a deep breath, and lunged at the illusion of Kalya with a great war cry. His blade pierced clean through her torso, and she wailed in agony.

With his last ounce of strength, he jerked out the blade. Blood cascaded from the wound, front and back, in thick pulses. Other Kalya dropped to her knees on the cobblestones, whimpering, asking Zevran why. He dropped too. Elissa lunged forward to catch him. He buried his face in the crook of his arm, wracked with sobs, muttering an apology that got quieter and quieter.

Fade Kalya’s gurgling went on long enough for Elissa, Alistair, and Kalya to exchange a worried glance, but when their eyes broke away from the bloody scene, the dusk-muted colors on the surrounding buildings began fuzzing, swirling and wisping away like smoke.

A single point of whiteness expanded, lighting up the darkness and enveloping them all, until they couldn’t see one another, until they couldn’t even see themselves.

:::

Kalya felt weighed down by rocks. Hungover, only not quite. She felt like when Riordan had given her that poultice to sleep through the setting of a broken arm. Groggy and thick and aching.

She opened her eyes to see a stone wall. Vertigo lurched over her pulsating head when she realized it was the ceiling.

From a few meters away, Leliana screamed, “Kalya, too, Morrigan. Hurry!”

“I’m fine,” she croaked. “I’m fine. Heal Zevran. He’s right…” Where was he?

She propped herself up on her elbows – too fast. Stars burst behind her eyelids. She blinked them away. The room was vaulted with a pinkish biological matter that made her want to bathe for a week. Alistair and Elissa were already sitting upright, though they looked equally woozy.

Zevran was on his back by the door where they’d entered. Leliana curled over him, pouring a potion into his mouth. When he didn’t sputter or choke, she jerked his head up to clear his airway. It simply drained out the sides of his mouth.

Morrigan knelt on his other side, a blue glow emanating from her hands as she waved them over his supine body. His deathly pallor looked just as it had in the Fade.

Kalya shouted his name. It echoed within the stone walls. She was by his side in moments, her limbs heavy and tingling with pinpricks. Leliana pulled her back, taking her into a side embrace, or away from the witch’s magic, or both.

With one last explosive surge, Morrigan bathed his body in blue light.

She fell back against the wall, completely spent, once the healing glow had faded.

Seconds passed. Then, a flutter so faint, Kalya thought she might still be dreaming. But this was real. Zevran’s amber eyes opened and landed on Kalya. Without thinking, she curled her body around his, careful and enveloping. His hand grazed her cheek. He gulped and exhaled deeply but said nothing.

“Zevran!” Leliana looked torn between slapping the elf and pulling him into a relieved embrace herself. “The Maker told me you were a part of this. So stay the fuck alive!”


	44. Desperate Haven

_And you’ll know our path is blessed_  
_When I lay my head to rest  
_ _Beside yours in the Fading night_

The jaunty tune was already running through Alistair’s head when he woke up deep in the Frostback Mountains. He whistled along while he folded up his bedroll, strapped into his warmest leathers, and then lifted the flap of the small tent in the middle of camp where he called home.

“The Elf and the Dragonling” wasn’t precisely on the Approved Chantry Song List, but he’d grown up hearing the kids in Redcliffe sing it while they played in the fields. It had been a while since he’d last heard it out loud, but you don’t exactly forget the words to “The Elf and the Dragonling.”

The sun was just peeking over the tips of the snow-capped trees. He’d always fancied himself an early riser – monastery habits die hard – but now that the elves were freed from their ropes, he often found Kalya up and about when he woke, already running through her training routine. This morning, though her moves were crisp and proficient, she squinted and winced as she did when she’d spent too long next to Oghren at dinner the night before.

Zevran, too, was already sitting at their makeshift tree-stump table, sipping a copper mug of hot, dark liquid. He looked up at Alistair, who had just gotten to the good part of his whistled tune.

“Mm, someone’s in a good mood this morning,” the elf purred, grinning at him.

“Heh, guilty!” Alistair wiped some remaining sleep from his eyes. “It’s funny. These past few nights, I’ve been having –” Alistair froze mid-sentence and gulped. He couldn’t believe he’d almost said “a recurring dream” to healing, hurting Zevran, after all the horror they’d been through in the Fade together… “– heartburn. But it’s better now. Welp, gotta go!”

He hadn’t _really_ wanted a mug of that dark brew anyway. Nothing like making a fool of yourself first thing in the morning to get the ol’ blood pumping.

On the way to check the traps Leliana had laid out overnight, Alistair passed the empty rectangle where Sten used to reside in their small camp. They’d only just made it to the outskirts of Haven the previous evening, when the silent fury that Alistair always knew was bubbling beneath the Qunari’s surface had finally broken through.

In a rage, he’d accused the Wardens of “climbing a mountain in the middle of nowhere,” of saving the Arl as a “frivolous whim.” _That_ had pissed Alistair right off, but when Sten accused Elissa of “running from battle,” Alistair took a step back, being entirely too near her sword arm for comfort.

They dueled right there, while the other companions watched. Elissa won, as Alistair knew she would, and she even let him live, which Alistair might have lost a few sovereigns on. Then she dismissed him for insubordination.

By the time they got back to the campsite, he was gone. He’d even taken his tent, in one final callous gesture. Kalya could have used it.

At any rate, Alistair _told_ everyone they should never have released the Qunari from his jail cell in Lothering. Had anyone listened? Noooooo.

Well, that just meant more armor for him. When it was too large to fit Elissa, of course.

At lunchtime, he returned to camp with enough rabbits pulled from the traps to keep the group fed through lunch and likely dinner. Everyone had duties at their small outpost, and they were busy sharpening or mending or whittling as he held up the day’s catch with a great smile.

When no one returned his mirth – well, Zevran smirked and Leliana shook her head with a slow smile; a reaction he never understood but got frequently enough – he shrugged and went to work preparing the rabbits for consumption. It was messy business, and he tried very hard not to think of them as adorable bunnies, but rather Things That Keep Us Alive.

It was quiet. And not just because they were down one party member. Ever since their weird experience in the Circle Tower over a week ago, the mood at camp had been markedly different.

Elissa tended to spend more time alone in her tent, surrounded by maps and historical books she borrowed from the Arl’s library. Zevran, to his great credit, had recovered faster than Alistair would have expected after such mental torment. But he too seemed more stoic and reserved, especially around Kalya. Or was it the other way round?

Those who hadn’t experienced the Fade Dream kept uncharacteristically mum about the whole ordeal, though the sympathetic glances Leliana often cast upon Zevran suggested _someone_ was sharing.

Pity made Alistair uncomfortably blushy, but Zev used the opportunity to snuggle on Leliana’s shoulder or “rest upon her bosom” until he felt better, which miraculously seemed to happen moments before she hit him with something. Still, it seemed more reactive than wanted. Zevran didn’t strike Alistair as the type to recount such personal horror, even _for_ some soft bosom-rests. So who had told her?

Kalya swore loudly, breaking the silence of their noontime busywork. She shoved a thumb in her mouth, having apparently smashed it hammering out dents in the warriors’ heavy armor.

Alistair looked up from the adorable-bunny gore. Kalya met his eyes, then blinked away. Out of everyone, she’d seemed the most changed after the Fade Dream.

Before, he quite enjoyed their light hiking conversation, good-natured jabs at one another’s cooking, and fighting by her side. Her dexterous backstabbings and tendon clips rained upon their enemies threaded perfectly between his wide, sweeping arcs, like a well-choreographed dance.

After, however, forget small-talk. He’d been unable to keep eye contact with her for more than a few seconds in over a week.

He could sort of understand why; Leliana didn’t need to wordlessly scoff at him for not getting _that_. But if Kalya weren’t so dead set on avoiding him, he’d have told her she needn’t be so embarrassed. Hadn’t they all dreamed of a different life?

Well, Elissa hadn’t shared what _her_ dream had been, but he supposed that was just the luxury of being the first to escape the demon’s thrall.

The rabbit steaks were ready to cook. He carried them, humming quietly as he went, to the steel grate they’d fashioned over the campfire.

Was it that they had been lovers in Kalya’s dream that left her so flustered? Their casual kiss, their rapport, the warmth they might have eventually shared in real life if this whole Blight hadn’t gone and ruined one more thing? But they _had_ been lovers before. It was actually a perfectly normal dream the more he thought of it.

Perhaps it was his fault. His kneejerk reaction to avert his eyes in the Fade, to give the two lovebirds some space. Awkward eye-aversion and blushing was how he reacted when _anyone_ kissed in front of him, or… rubbed up on each other all sexily, Void take his adolescent disposition.

That was it. He was going to say something to her. Next time… next time he didn’t feel like she was going to hit him, or scamper off, or both if he came too near.

Ugh, but what would he _say_? “Thank you for dreaming of me; it’s not weird; kinda flattering, actually”? “I haven’t forgotten our time together either”? “It’s funny, though, because in _my_ dream –”

“Are you _aware_ you’re doing that?” Elissa asked, looking up over the grey woolen socks she was darning with an unblinking smile.

“Hmm?”

“You’re humming. Again.”

“You know that song is about death, do you not?” Morrigan continued grinding Elfroot with her mortar and pestle without looking up.

“Oh, everything’s about death with you,” he said.

“‘Tis true,” she shrugged. “‘ _When I lay my head to rest_.’ She’s dying.”

“She’s going to sleep!” cried Alistair, feeling his childhood crumble within him.

“The _big_ sleep, Alistair.” Morrigan was enjoying this. “And it’s the fault of us ‘quick children.’ Here I thought getting my schooling from mother put me at a disadvantage. Is Elven history not taught in the Chantries?”

“I… We learned it…” Was it suddenly unnaturally hot for the Frostbacks?

Leliana, bless her, tried to divert the awkwardness. “Kalya, Zevran, do you know the song?”

Kalya shrugged.

“I only know _one_ Antivan song about an elf.” Zevran smiled a wolfish grin. “It’s not a children’s song, as I recall, but I’d be happy to serenade you. She wears seven scarves, one for each lover she’s –”

“That’s quite all right,” Elissa said, setting a pair of finished socks upon the pile with finality. “I make it a habit to limit licentious ballads until at least after dinnertime. Alistair?”

“Oh. Uh, me too.”

Elissa sighed evenly. “Alistair, is lunch ready?”

“Lunch! Yes!” He flipped the last rabbit steak over the fire. A bit burned. Normally, he’d have begrudgingly eaten the mistake – heh, mis-steak – himself, but Kalya seemed to prefer her meat to be charred beyond all recognition.

As the group lined up, he carefully arranged the small earthenware plates so she’d be the one to receive it. Elissa had a strict no-time-for-preferences policy when it came to meals, but what harm would this do?

Okay, she could duel him and he could either lose and be banished from camp or be super dead. But that probably wouldn’t happen. Maybe.

:::

Alistair relished training in the early evenings. The sun – meager as it was on the cold mountainside – had warmed the day enough to mimic sweat and exhaustion after a long battle. It was just him, his sword, and whatever cluster of thick-trunked trees looked most like darkspawn.

Plus, it gave him plenty of time to think, alone, while the others prepared for the night ahead.

It was silly to fixate on small things in the middle of a Blight. He knew that. But he couldn’t help but be a little wounded at how Elissa treated his humming. “Wounded” was a bit much, but he was definitely confused. Hurt-confused. Okay, wounded.

All those meters below Thedas, when she had accidentally doomed him as they fought the Broodmother and he’d accidentally survived, they had shared something. Something tender and surprising and… unprecedented.

Alistair always had a weakness for the unprecedented. When he was a stable boy in Redcliffe Village, and there had been a mabari – a stray. All the kids said he was the meanest and grumpiest and he’d bite you as soon as look at you. So, of course, one day, Alistair had taken a wrong turn down a dead-end alley outside the farrier’s shop, turned round, and found himself face-to-face with the infamous mutt. But despite the stories, young Alistair didn’t run. He averted his eyes and held his palms flat, trying to exude the calm assertion that while he didn’t want the mabari’s space, he was neither his enemy nor his subordinate.

To his great surprise, the mabari’s flattened ears raised and his tail began to thump. His palm got a wet lick in thanks as he passed. For a split second, Alistair’s feigned confidence nearly crumbled around him, sending him sprinting out of the alley at a fever pitch, but he managed to keep his calm.

The mabari never forgot Alistair, thumping his tail in gruff greeting every time he visited the farrier. He even helped Alistair out of a scrape or two when some of the village boys who had _proper_ schooling and _proper_ families decided to play Beat on the Farm Boy – one of Alistair’s _least_ favorite games by far.

Besides the gratitude of not being beaten by jerks, there was something about having tamed the wild beast and earning his respect that warmed his heart, even thinking upon it to this day. The stoic, strong mabari who hated everyone had chosen Alistair of all people to protect and receive his hard-won kindness.

Elissa was like that mabari. Er, in the nicest way possible. And earning her approval when so many others failed to made him feel special. Kissing her, seeing her tender side, and holding her as they both fell asleep made him feel like a conqueror.

After failing Duncan and being unfit to take over as Warden Commander, he took feeling-less-of-a-disappointment wherever he could get it. Plus, the whole “making out with the boss” was super hot.

But something changed. Hadn’t it? Maybe it was that the Blight wasn’t a fertile breeding ground for romance. Maybe it was that he didn’t have a lot of experience being a partner. It seemed to Alistair that he’d gone from “exciting new lover” to “begrudgingly tolerated acquaintance” in the span of months.

Things like his penchant for tearing through a pair of socks every week, like cooking meat the wrong way, like _humming_ apparently, made him an annoyance. Things that once made Elissa laugh despite herself now made him tiresome. Alistair couldn’t remember the last time they’d fallen asleep in each other’s arms.

And it was fine. Alistair knew she was under tremendous stress. She was new to the Grey Wardens, newly orphaned, had the literal weight of Thedas on her shoulders. He’d massage it all away, if she’d let him. And if she didn’t let him? Well, he supposed he’d… keep offering until she took him up on it or… what, dismissed him as she had Sten?

“What’d that tree ever do to you?”

Alistair wheeled around, sword raised, to find a shield about chest high. Chest high to _him_. To the dwarf, the shield was over his head.

“Oghren.” Alistair blinked. It was nearly dusk. “Where… How long have you been there?”

Oghren straightened up, dropping the shield to his side. “Let’s just say it’s not in your interests to piss off any assassins. Even not-terribly-sneaky ones.”

“That’s probably good advice anytime.”

The dwarf jerked a thumb towards camp.

“‘S almost dinner. Elissa sent me to find you.”

Alistair cursed under his breath, wiping sweat from his brow with his free hand. He was on second-chef duty tonight, tasked with gathering greens for a salad. He’d planned on hunting for vegetation in the perma-frosted ground _after_ training – a difficult task even _with_ plenty of time to search.

And here he’d been so looking forward to nightfall. Though that was for other reasons…

He rubbed his hands together, planning his apology while eyeing the stiff, wilted grass on the forest floor.

“Does anything around here look like salad to you?” he asked weakly.

The dwarf grinned wide and held up a bunch of carrots, radishes, and other greenery by the stalks.

“Have I ever told you I love you, Oghren?”

“Ah, right back atcha, ya big nug. The Sulcher’s Pass trading route runs right through here. Bodahn stocked right up. We even got the _good_ Dwarven Moonshine tonight, if yer interested.”

Alistair scrunched his nose up. He hoped “good” didn’t necessarily mean _stronger_ , for Kalya’s sake. Well, for her hangover’s sake.

“I’ll let you know.” He grabbed the veggies in one hand and sheathed his sword with the other. “How fast you think I can chop these up?”

“If it’s anything like the number you did on that tree, the carrots don’t have a prayer.”

The two headed back to camp under the darkening sky.

“Seems strange, doesn’t it? Eating bunnies _and_ bunny food?”

“You’re a weird guy, Alistair.”

“I know.”


	45. Alistair's Family

The edges of the world misted around him, just as it had the past several nights.

Alistair strode across the threshold with one thing on his mind. Sweaty from training, exhausted yet energized. Strange how that worked, but it never seemed to fail. A few hours of getting the blood pumping, and when he finished, it just kept flowing. Downwards.

Goldanna and her kids had already gone off to bed. The house was quiet.

He thought he'd find his love waiting in their room. Her smile had been flitting through his mind the whole way back from the training yard, and he was nearly worked up enough to… get ahead of himself.

It wasn't until he shut the door that he heard her in the near-silence. Muffled singing, not exactly on-key, but perfect.

" _When the knight returned from war  
__He would spend forevermore  
__With the Elf and the Dragonling."_

Stripping down to his thin linen shirt and breeches, Alistair thumped his gambeson into a pile in the corner and slowly opened the door to the master bath.

Steam rose from the water in their lush copper tub. Kalya sat amidst a mountain of bubbles, humming the next verse while rubbing one slender arm against the other. On the wooden table beside her sat a wine glass filled with water and a platter of grapes and cheeses.

Kalya turned when the door squeaked and gave her lover a half-smile.

"You stopped at the kitchen first, didn't you?" she asked.

"You wound me, love." Alistair grasped his heart. "I came straight here. Plus, if I stopped there first, there wouldn't be anything to eat _after_ our lovemaking."

Kalya flashed an impish grin and sunk into the mass of bubbles, dunking her head beneath the surface of silky, warm water. When she emerged, she ran her fingers through her short auburn locks, smoothing it down. His spine itched for those hungry fingers to run deep ridges into it, to grasp into a bundle of muscles when the sensation of him became too much for her to bear.

A different muscle threatened to burst through his thin breeches.

"Are you going to join me in here, or do you want me to beg?" She bit the side of her lip. "I'm not _above_ begging."

"Oh! I thought… Yes, my lady." Alistair was out of his linens in record time.

He slipped one foot into the tub, then another. Bubbles overflowed onto the stone floor as he sank into the water and crawled towards her.

"Call me 'my lady' again," she purred.

Alistair placed both hands on either side of Kalya's shoulders, pinning them in place against the lip of the smooth copper tub. It took all he had not to collapse onto her, drinking up kisses from her collarbone. But taking it slow was part of the sensual dance that tantalized him the most.

"My lady, would you kindly assist in washing me? I feel quite dirty."

Kalya smirked and snaked her hands around his midsection, massaging deep circles up and down his back and along his aching obliques. Alistair melted against her, letting out a contented moan. Her breasts squished against him, slippery with soap, and he couldn't help nuzzling into her neck.

Water splashed out of the tub as Kalya giggled against him.

"You're making a mess!"

"Apologies, my lady." He dipped his head in the most regal way a naked man could. "When I'm around you, I turn into a stumbling fool, you distract me so."

She took his face in her hands. "You're no fool."

Alistair raised a skeptical eyebrow, his lips pressed into a flat line.

"Well, you're _my_ fool, then. Now flip around. The sooner you're clean, the sooner we'll see if I can't keep your concentration somehow."

"Yes, my lady." He flipped over, pressing his buttocks between her soft legs.

Kalya cupped handfuls of soapy water over his hair, somehow working out all the issues of the day simply by rubbing his scalp.

When she was sufficiently satisfied with his cleanliness, she leaned against him, curling her arms around his chest in a great hug. He slid down low enough to dip his head to the side and catch her mouth in his, hooking a leg out of the huge copper tub.

Kalya moaned, despite herself. She didn't usually let herself make noise until she was nearly undone. The sound bolstered his passions. His hand grazed her cheek and grasped a fistful of hair at her nape, giving a quick tug as her pert tongue found its way into his mouth. Alistair could take no more. He growled and flipped back around, dipping his hand beneath the water and between her pillowy legs.

"Shall we move to the bed?" She broke away, breathless. "A bit easier on the back than Dwarven copper."

"I'll take you wherever you'll let me," Alistair said, rising from the tub. He pulled a soft cotton towel from a rack on the wall and held it out to her.

"Orlais?"

"Hmm?"

Kalya smiled wide. "Never mind. I was only kidding. I want to be nowhere but right here by your side for the rest of our days."

She held up her delicate hand for help out of the tub, but Alistair wrapped the towel around her, hooked his hands under her arms, and lifted her out, rubbing the moisture and bubbles from her freckled skin.

When they were sufficiently toweled off, Alistair blew out the candles and followed Kalya's sashaying backside out of the master bath and into their bedroom.

Moonlight beamed through the window, illuminating Kalya's pale skin with a bluish glow. Alistair couldn't help himself. His strong hands took her shoulders, and he eased her back onto their quilted soft comforter. Then he sank to his knees at the foot of the bed.

"Alistair!" Kalya knocked her knees against one another, giggling with modesty as she always did when he wished to taste her.

"May I, my lady? I'm not _above_ begging." He caught her sparkling eyes from where he knelt, then added with a smile, "But I'll do whatever you wish."

He began to rise, running a hand across her taut stomach, grazing around her perfect breasts. It was a delicate dance reading whether she didn't want the act out of discomfort and vulnerability, or if she was just being polite, giving him an out if he didn't actually want to pleasure her with his mouth.

It was, of course, never the latter, but whenever it was the former (Maker curse her time with the Crows or whoever had hurt her), he let her dictate the cadence of the evening. Whether that was burrowing deep in his arms as they fell asleep or climbing atop him and controlling the pleasure, his heart swelled equally with gratitude that she gave him the honor of being his wife. Waking up next to her each day and falling asleep beside her each night made him the luckiest man alive.

"No, it's okay," she said, evening her breathing as she peered down at him under long eyelashes. "If you're sure…"

"I've never been more sure of anything, my Kalya."

Returning to his knees, Alistair peppered her thighs with kisses – one for each freckle. He hooked his thumbs underneath her hipbones and dug fingertips into the meat of her backside, slowly lowering himself before her center.

The teasing seduction, drawing the pleasure out, was as much for him as it was for her. When the heady scent of her arousal nearly drove him mad, he enveloped her with his mouth, and she squealed with delight. Suddenly, it was difficult to think straight. All of his being was focused on making her feel the way she made him feel nearly every waking moment: staggered with awe, spurred by appreciation, drunk with devotion.

His hand snaked from her backside to her core, and he thrust a finger deep within her. Kalya's back arched off the bed, and he slipped his other hand to the small of her back, pushing her against him. Every motion, every hint of her needing drove him wild. He wanted to feel every twitch of her love for him.

On an outward thrust, a second finger joined the first, and he bore down on her sensitive bundle of nerves with the flat of his tongue, then retreated, swirling around and around in a hypnotic rhythm. Kalya clapped a hand over her mouth and Alistair chuckled against her. The house's second bedroom was separated from them by way of the kitchen, and he intended to make use of that distance by making his lover scream with pleasure.

He pressed his tongue into her, widening it and lapping as if he were trying to flatten sweet-taffy against her. Kalya began shivering atop the pillowy comforter, first in small trembles, and then with more jerky, carnal wanting. He might have thought she was cold if it weren't for the light sheen of sweat reflecting off her porcelain skin in the moonlight. As he peered up over her, he watched her nipples harden into peaks. His hands raked up her sides, taking them into his warm palms, circling them with a tucked-in thumb.

"Come for me, Kalya," he murmured, his low voice reverberating against her sensitive pearl.

"Alistair," she panted. "Alistair, I need you inside me."

"Come for me once, and I'll bring you to pleasure again."

She groaned at that, and the fevered jerks seemed to uncoil something within her. Alistair quickened his pace, suckling and swirling, as his two fingers – then three fingers pumped mercilessly in as deep as they could go, out, then in again.

Kalya's back arched, and with a squeal of pleasure, she came undone into his wanting mouth. He drank of her devotion to him and felt almost completely sated. Almost. A throbbing insistence of his own pushed into the edge of the soft mattress as she rode out waves of rapture.

It wasn't until her whimpers quieted into a deep and grateful sigh that Alistair crawled overtop her on all fours. Her hair was splayed out all around her face. In the soft blue light, she looked like an angel.

"Up for some more?" he asked, his boyish smirk hopeful.

"I love you," she said simply. "You know that, right?"

His muscled arm reached up, and he scratched the back of his neck. An embarrassed tick he couldn't turn off, even for her.

"Not just because you make me feel… like that. Because of everything you are. I love you, Alistair. Thank you for letting me be your wife."

He wasn't going to cry. Nope. Not now. Okay, his breath hitched a little bit and his heart swelled, and maybe he was _already_ planning on wiping the corner of one eye with the heel of his palm. She couldn't prove he wasn't!

And he probably had one of the goofier grins in his repertoire frozen on his mug, but that didn't matter. All that mattered was her, was them, here, now. Maker, he _finally_ had everything he'd fought for so long to achieve.

It took his all to will his voice from cracking. "I love you, too, love. More than anything."

Kalya kissed the tip of his nose, her eyes clear and hopeful. She put her hands on his cheeks and pulled him close for a deeper kiss. As she did so, his erection poked into the side of her leg, setting off a fit of giggles against his lips. She readjusted her hips and wrapped her legs around his torso, centering him perfectly in front of her.

"Can I make love to you?" she whispered.

Alistair gulped, then nodded.

Kalya hooked a hand around one of his elbows, kicked with her opposing leg, and in an instant, he was on his back. He never had a chance.

She sunk onto him, her silk and warm center throbbing tight around his stiffness. He lay speechless, helpless at the sight of her, an iridescent silhouette against their darkened suite. For a foolish instant, he craned his neck up to kiss her, but her delicate hand pushed against his chest, bolstering her balance as she bobbed up and down his cock with torturous skill.

Her breasts bounced hypnotically, and without thinking, the Warden leaned up to take one into his mouth, rubbing the other so it wouldn't get lonely. The unexpected angle-shift of his steel thickness inside her coaxed a groan from Kalya's full lips, and Alistair felt his control slipping away. It wouldn't be long now.

Entirely too soon, however, she lifted herself off him. Alistair nearly whimpered at the loss. His pull to be inside her was magnetic, and suddenly being apart felt so wrong. He wished he could live his life making love to her, responsibilities be damned.

With a wicked smile, she kicked a leg over him and spun around, still straddling his midsection, just facing the other way. Her perfect ass lulled his whimpers away, and with a demure peek back, she plunged down around him.

This time, an urgent groan was ripped from her throat – one she would only allow in the throes of passion, right before completion. She leaned back and grabbed both his hands, forcing him forward to cup her breasts. The angle curled his velvet steel to rub hard against that special spot deep in her soft sheath. With little hops, she bounced her ass hard into his lap, driving him deeper and deeper with each downward thrust.

He gulped a fevered moan away, but his mind was swirling and keening towards bliss. When a rush of wetness coated his thick shaft, he let himself tip into ecstasy. Her frenetic pounding continued, dizzying him, tickling him, filling him with love, and emptying him fully into her until there wasn't a drop left.

When Alistair finally came back to himself, he was languidly nuzzling into her neck, arms wrapped around her tiny frame, apparently trying to fill her entire crook with kisses. He pulled her back in a great bear hug, and they somehow made their way to the pillows, exhausted and happy and in each other's arms.

:::

Hazy sun peeked through the curtains, warming the thick-quilted bed. Alistair smiled down at Kalya who murmured as she curled around him in the sheets.

He tucked a loose tendril of hair around his lover's ear, kissed her gingerly on the temple, then slipped out of bed. Breakfast in bed was in order, and he was going to make her favorite – eggs, a slice of cheese, grilled ham, and a crust of bread. Double that for him. Extra cheese.

Even though he knew what was coming, it still caught him by surprise – just for a second. It never failed. The Fade was a weird place.

Goldanna met him in the kitchen, joking about him sleeping late. He played the part. Her children giggled outside, echoing and ethereal. She tossed him a wicker laundry basket with a laugh. He snatched it out of the air.

Then, quite suddenly, her attention blinked away, focused on something just beyond his shoulder.

Alistair spun around to find Elissa standing in full armor just a few paces away. How had he not heard her approach? His heart raced, as if he'd done something wrong. Wait, did she– He eyed the door he'd just come from. No, still closed. His secret was safe.

He cocked his head to the side, looking like a confused mabari. "Elissa, how… Wait, what are you doing in our old Grey Warden armor?"

As the dream dissolved around him, so did the guilt. Nothing wrong with having a nice dream. There were more important things to keep his mind occupied in the daytime than worrying about dream-induced guilt. Saving Thedas from a Blight. Navigating Ferelden's political landscape. Where and when it was appropriate to _hum_ apparently…

Yes, his days were quite full.

But nights? Nights were for Kalya.


	46. A Test of Faith

At least Haven proper had just been cold. These dank temple chambers held the still, moist air in a way that chilled Kalya to the bone but left her skin with a clammy sheen. And the inexplicably lit torches in the abandoned alcoves they passed did nothing to warm their way. Probably magic, of which she'd had enough to last a lifetime. At least they occasionally came upon cultists or spirit wraiths she could slice apart. Killing always provided a great distraction.

Kalya pulled a thick fur-lined cowl around her head. She was tired of trying to make sense of the cultists' politics or the religious history of the place. If the mysterious purpose of their travels hadn't already stopped her asking questions, her ignorance of Chantry teachings had finished the job, transforming her into a silent assassin. Which was probably why Elissa had allowed her to stay.

A few days after Sten was banished, just as Kalya was wondering if their numbers were now too few, Elissa emerged from the pile of political volumes in her tent and declared the ailing Arl needed protection back in Redcliffe. The Arlessa and her son had already proven themselves susceptible fools – Elissa's words – so Oghren and Morrigan were sent back with Bodahn to form a protective retinue.

An introspective quiet had settled on the camp ever since the Circle of Magi. No one spoke of the experience in their shared nightmare. Those not in the room when the four fell to the demon knew only that their companions had all passed out. If the dreamers themselves were forever changed, it was imperceptible to anyone but the most studious observer.

Sure, Elissa was more pressed lips and narrowed eyes at Kalya than usual, but that was still only a step down from the chill she _usually_ brought to their rare interactions. Kalya had half a mind to return the frigidity tenfold, but she still felt included only by the grace of the Warden Commander. So she kept her mouth shut and retorts echoing in her head.

Kalya worried about Zevran, though. He wasn't silent like her, and she guessed everyone else in the party was sufficiently fooled by his defense mechanism. Casual flirtation and inappropriate retorts were as natural an extension of the elf as his short swords. But she alone saw the difference in his masks, manifesting slowly over the recent weeks. The milliseconds of extra time it took Zevran to make a lewd comment after Brother Genitivi mentioned dropping to his knees in reverence spoke volumes. Zev was more hesitant. Or angry. Or damaged beyond healing.

In a wide chamber a few rooms ahead of the group, the two elves had just finished slaughtering a group of dragonlings. Elissa, Alistair, and Leliana were meeting with one of the cult leaders, and Zevran thought they might need a quick escape, depending on the outcome.

Kalya thought it might have been a guise, a chance to finally speak with her alone, but when the battle was done, Zev nodded and headed out the mouth of the rocky temple cavern into the sunlight. The rational part of her could hardly blame him, which did nothing to ease her guilt. _Her_ six months of fabricated memories in the Fade had at least been pleasurable. His were spent in horror, reliving his greatest fear – that her foolish inability to fight for herself would get her killed – over and over again.

Kalya snorted joylessly. Up until the Circle, she'd actually thought things had been looking up. What a fool.

When they'd survived the attack on Redcliffe Village, the five remaining members of the first line of defense hobbled down to the village in the early light of the morning. If Elissa was surprised or relieved, she hid it well, nodding at them the same way one might to acquaintances returning from a Dwarven caravan shopping trip, rather than having survived impossible odds – odds _she_ imposed by ordering them up there. Well, she and a horde of Undead. Can't forget them.

Alistair, on the other hand, had jumped to his feet, run to their side, and clapped Teagan and the others into a great embrace. Kalya could swear he had a tear in the corner of his eye.

While Teagan regaled everyone with the story of their endurance, Zevran caught Kalya's gaze and nodded over to Elissa. The Warden just kept cleaning her sword, her face a blank slate, even as Teagan gave Kalya her due, relishing her brave action plan in the face of exhaustion and terror.

The two of them alone knew Elissa was disappointed her suicide mission had failed – in that the _elves_ were still alive. She would have surely missed the others, who went against her wishes by joining the former prisoners on the front lines. But if Leliana or Oghren expected an admonishment for disobeying, her silence spared them, too. It was only when Teagan finished that she smiled near-earnestly and thanked him for his bravery.

Zev leaned over with a wink and advised Kalya never to play Elissa in a game of Wicked Grace.

"Unless, of course, _I_ am there," he amended after a beat. "The sight of you both losing your armor to me would inspire delightful dreams for a fortnight. Do you suppose she enjoys alcohol?"

The comment surprised Kalya. She took it as implicit forgiveness for her – possibly foolish, definitely deserved – transgressions with Oghren's ale before the fight. And here she thought she wasn't going to hear the end of her liquid-courage-fueled indiscretion, barreling towards the barricade before Teagan gave the signal. She filed away her prepared excuse that "she'd have done the same sober."

"I don't think the stick up her ass lets her do _anything_ that could be constituted as 'fun' or 'relaxing.'"

"I wouldn't be so sure about that," he said with a smirk.

Kalya's stomach lurched angrily when she landed on what he meant. Alistair was animatedly re-enacting a finishing move Elissa had performed on a circle of undead, beaming with pride. Kalya turned heel and stormed to the lake to wash the innards of death off her.

Before the sun reached its highest point in the sky, Teagan had gone off to the castle alone, but not before telling the group of a secret entrance through the windmill. They followed shortly after, just as planned.

The fight against the terrors within was nothing compared to the onslaught they'd just survived, and they quickly made their way upstairs to a sheepish-looking Orlesian woman – who turned out to be the Arlessa – her creepy son, and Teagan, who danced and hooted as if drunk, though it seemed out of character for the noble.

Elissa ordered the others out of the room to set up a perimeter, while she and Alistair stayed to question the Arl's family.

As Leliana and Kalya held down the antechamber along the room's eastern corner, the bard explained the bits Kalya couldn't fill in herself. Arl Eamon – the man Alistair had known growing up – was ill and close to death. His young boy, and now apparently Teagan, were stuck in the thrall of a demon who had promised to keep the Arl alive, but in a dick move, only just barely so.

Leliana placed the blame on the Arlessa and the mage they'd met in the dungeon, though he'd struck Kalya as too inept to conjure a spark. The bard huffed in a way that suggested that was exactly the problem.

And just like that, they were off to the Circle of Magi in search of a healer for Eamon, solace from the demon, and help from the mages in the Wardens' larger quest to bring Loghain Mac Tir to justice.

When Leliana had whispered that name on the cold boat trip across Lake Calenhad, a pit formed in Kalya's stomach. Riordan had met with this Loghain right before he'd been killed for his meddling involvement. Right _after_ he'd named Loghain to Kalya as the reason Duncan and the Grey Wardens were dead, the reason Alistair had very nearly died.

The pit hardened into resolve, however, and by the time the boat docked, Kalya was positively amped. For the first time in months, her life had taken on a purpose besides not pissing anyone off enough to get killed.

Revenge against Loghain had once seemed as distant as her saving Thedas from the Blight, but now her sole ambition lined up exactly with the Grey Wardens'. Riordan would have been proud.

When they entered the Circle Tower, they'd found themselves in the midst of a political conflict. Mages versus Templars. Kalya just shrugged and threw herself into the fray, resolved to side with whomever would aid their larger quest.

On anyone else, a thirst for vengeance might have brought solemn focus. Quiet resolve. But on Kalya, it brought an energy and passion to her fighting she hadn't known since she trained with Zevran back in Denerim. He could sense the change, too, even if he didn't know why, and it bolstered his own spirits. The group fought for the first time as a united front, nearly unstoppable, making quick work of the demons ravaging the Circle Tower.

Then their lives changed forever.

After the Nightmare, Kalya became more like the person she was _after_ joining the Crows: a mess of shame, relief to be alive, and unchecked rage.

Alistair's cheeks flushed hot whenever he and Kalya made eye contact. On the quiet trip back across the lake, he seemed to radiate a second-hand embarrassment that made the trip almost unbearable. She wondered distantly what _he'd_ dreamed. What Elissa had dreamed. Then she decided she'd rather not know, just as she'd never tell Zevran hers.

Zevran. She'd once completely missed that he was suicidal, so well did he wear his masks. Did the marked difference she _now_ picked up on mean she knew better what to look for this time? Or was this new, quiet resolve different? Different from suicide was good, right? Angry, exhausted, confused, broken, but alive, and wanting to stay that way.

Returning to the Arl's side in Redcliffe with no more magical cure than when they'd left had spun off their last-ditch effort to save him. Something about an urn that contained the ashes of Andraste – ashes that could heal the sick and return sight to the blind.

Kalya doubted such a thing existed. If it did, wouldn't all of Thedas have used up the ashes by now? Wouldn't the temple that housed it have become a mecca? She kept her mouth shut. Leliana seemed staggered with awe about the whole situation, and she didn't want to crush her friend's beliefs, foolish as they seemed.

Zevran kept his mouth shut, as well, without so much as a rolled eye in Kalya's direction.

At first, she thought he was just healing. Introspective. They all were. But as the days passed, when he doubled down on his efforts to return to his flirtatious self, chatting up Leliana, Alistair, even Morrigan, when she'd let him, Kalya saw the silence for what it was. Silence towards _her_. Shame at nearly being driven insane or killed by Kalya's incompetence. _Dream_ Kalya's incompetence, she yearned to correct, but even she wasn't sure there was a difference.

It hurt, certainly, but shame was something she knew well. Before sleeping under the stars – the elves still weren't permitted tents; let's not get _crazy_ , Elissa – Kalya spent the evening meals between Oghren and Leliana, sharing the dwarf's fat canteen and listening to war stories. Falling asleep inebriated was easier without humiliation buzzing through her noisy mind, and it kept her focused on her true goal. Everything left was for Riordan.

As they fought waves of hysterical cultists in Haven, Kalya was surer than ever the quest they were on was inconsequential. The Arl was going to die, and Elissa would have to unite the Fereldans some other way.

The humans' talks with the cult leader Kolgrim indeed went south, and the dead dragonlings felled by the elves lined the path to the Gauntlet, the group's final stop before Kalya could leave the frigid mountains.

When they came upon the Guardian of the Gauntlet, however, she got a distinctly uneasy feeling. The bearded man stood stock still before a great door, his winged helmet making him look positively spectral. His coloring didn't look quite right.

Kalya itched to grab her knives. When the others approached earnestly, she hung back. She could draw them while eclipsed behind Elissa's back. Looking to Zevran out of habit to see if he shared her mistrust, she was met with a simple, polite smile. She could have screamed.

"I bid you welcome, Pilgrims." His voice echoed. Off the stones, right? Not like a demon-y echo. "I am the Guardian. The protector of the Urn of Sacred Ashes. I have waited years for this. You are the first to arrive in a very long time."

The air felt charged with electricity and smelled of ozone, a sensation unwelcome to Kalya ever since her Trials with the Crows. Everyone else stood in awe. Even Elissa was genuflect – which, for her, just meant the _outer_ edges of her eyebrows turned down, rather than their usual scowl dipping the innermost corners.

"It has been my duty, my life, to protect the Urn and prepare the way for the faithful who come to revere Andraste. For years beyond counting have I been here, and shall I remain, until my task is done and the Imperium has crumbled into the sea."

As he spoke, Kalya's mind drifted before she could tamp it in place, as she usually did when such thoughts intruded. If Duncan had recruited _her_ instead, if _she_ had been the one to survive Loghain's attack with Alistair, she'd be here, without Elissa, with companions of her choosing. Maybe even with the elderly mage from the Circle Elissa had scared off.

She'd be the one making the tough calls, pretending to understand this temple's complex history or what the Imperium even was. Was it for the best that things worked out the way they did? Or would Kalya's leadership have put them closer to destroying Loghain than they currently were? She supposed she'd never know.

"The Imperium is no longer as powerful as it once was," Elissa said. _Someone_ paid attention to their private tutor.

"Ah, is it not? Then perhaps this is the beginning of the end."

Alistair shifted uncomfortably. Leliana looked about to burst at the prospect of passing through the giant door.

"I would like to see the Urn," said Elissa.

"You have come to honor Andraste, and you shall, _if_ you prove yourself worthy."

Kalya glanced nervously at their companions, but Elissa didn't so much as flinch. Brother Genitivi had said so much about the path they were to take, she'd zoned out. How many further trials could there be?

"What if I am not worthy?"

"Then you will not come to the ashes." The man seemed to shrug in his heavy armor. "It is not my place to decide your worthiness. The Gauntlet does that. If you are found worthy, you will see the Urn and be allowed to take a small pinch of the Ashes for yourself. If _not_ …"

"All right." Elissa shifted her weight but left her sword in its sheath. "Let's get this over with then."

"Before you go, there is something I must ask." The Guardian slowly took in the five before him. "I see that the path that led you here was not easy. There is suffering in your past – your suffering and the suffering of others." Whose past _wasn't_ beset with suffering? "By the time you reached Shianni, she was broken, brutalized. You were too late."

Kalya's head jerked to attention.

Elissa blinked. "I don't…"

His gaze fell upon Kalya. "Tell me, Pilgrim. Did you fail Shianni?"

"I… No, Vaughan was the villain. Not me." She could see Elissa glaring daggers into her, but she didn't flinch. Well, she _gulped_. That's different.

"Then you do not dwell on past mistakes – neither yours, nor someone else's."

Kalya scoffed in disbelief. She wouldn't go _that_ far. How much of her could he read?

The Guardian's head snapped to Elissa's, nearly causing everyone to jump out of their skin. Was a battle imminent? Was this part of the Gauntlet?

"You abandoned your father and mother, leaving them in the hands of Rendon Howe, knowing he would show no mercy. Do you think you failed your parents?"

"How do you know of my past?" Elissa's voice betrayed no shame.

"Your path is laid out before me and plain to see in the lines of your face and the scars on your heart." The Guardian repeated. "Do you believe you failed your parents?"

"My answer is my own, Guardian."

Cheap, in Kalya's opinion, but he appeared to accept it.

"Alistair, knight and Warden." The Guardian's head snapped again. Alistair looked a bit green. "You wonder if things would have been different if you were with Duncan on the battlefield. You could have shielded him from the killing blow. You wonder, don't you, if you should have died and not him?"

"I… Yes. If Duncan had been saved and not me, everything would be better. If I'd just had the chance, maybe…"

Kalya ached at his answer. So much could have been different. So much wasn't supposed to happen.

"And you."

Leliana beamed when the Guardian came to her.

"Why do you say the Maker speaks to you when all know the Maker has left?"

Awe fell from her expression, slackened into bemusement.

The Guardian continued. "He spoke only to Andraste. Do you believe yourself her equal?

"I never said that. I…"

Kalya had never seen Leliana flustered. It didn't suit her.

"In Orlais, you were someone. In Lothering, you feared you would lose yourself, become a drab sister and disappear. When your brothers and sisters of the cloister criticized you for what you professed, you were hurt, but you also reveled in it. It made you special. You enjoyed the attention, even if it was negative."

Redness from embarrassment quickly morphed to anger. A casual accusation of heresy was bad enough, but from someone – some _thing_ – who seemed to know so much…

"You're saying that I made it up for – for the attention? I did not! I know what I believe."

Leliana huffed, her breathing quickened. Kalya watched the woman out the corner of her eye. If she had sprung to fight, Kalya would have backed her up without question.

"And the Antivan elf…"

"Oh, is it my turn now?" Zevran spoke flatly. "Hurrah. I'm so excited."

"Many have died at your hand. But is there any you regret more than a woman by the name of –"

"How do you know about that?" Color drained from his face. Elissa and Alistair shot Kalya a look. Whoever that woman was – the woman he'd named in his nightmare, "Rinna" something – they all knew that he regretted _two_ deaths. One of them wasn't real, though he was forced to live its simulation over and over and over.

"I know much," the Guardian replied, unsmiling. "It is allowed to me. The question stands, however. Do you regret –"

"Yes. The answer is yes, if that's what you wish to know. I do. Now move on."

Zevran met Kalya's eyes, then he quickly averted his gaze. It was more emotion than he'd shown her in weeks.

The door behind the Guardian creaked, opened by unseen hands.

"The way is open. Good luck, and may you find what you seek."

The Guardian stepped aside, his gaze fixed ahead, ignoring the daggers glared into him as they passed.

:::

Maybe it was the Guardian's bringing it into the open. Maybe it was the look they shared, if only for an instant. Whatever the reason, while Elissa answered riddle after riddle from historical specters, the rest hung back, and Kalya took the opportunity to test the waters between her and Zevran.

He seemed surprised at her approach.

His shortswords remained sheathed at his sides, but he was tossing a small dagger end over end – nervous energy from not killing anything in a while.

"If you discover how to get a gig like _that_ after death, please let me know."

She smirked, then spun to look behind them. No one followed. "Was he dead?"

"Dead, knowledgeable beyond all mortal reason, what does it matter? Imagine being privy to the juicy unknowable."

Their banter seemed so natural. Had it all been in her head? Why couldn't they talk like this all the time?

She shook her head. "I'm burdened enough with my _own_ secrets."

"Indeed," he snorted.

She was about to ask what _that_ meant, when a loud whoosh made everyone jump. Elissa had apparently answered another riddle correctly. The essence of the asker zipped to the end of the cavernous room.

Shaking her head, Kalya resolved to rip off the plaster and get it over with. "Zevran, about what happened in the Fade…"

"Oh, is _now_ the time? Weeks later?"

That caught her off guard. "I…"

"I should admit, Kalya, that as far as _secrets_ are concerned, we're on a level playing field. Elissa told me of the other Fade Dreams. Quite a creative bunch we all are, mmm?"

So they'd discussed them. Without her. Amongst the dreamers alone, or did _everyone_ know but her? She felt ill. An uncomfortable heat chafed under layers of fur-lined leathers.

"I… didn't think anyone wanted to talk about it. I was being respectful."

"'Respect'? _That's_ what kept you at a distance? Kalya, unhealthy detachment is _your_ thing. I'd have thought our lesson from that whole experience was that different people have different coping mechanisms. _And_ different needs."

Kalya gulped, but she couldn't stop her shame from manifesting as anger.

"If you're jealous," she hissed in a whisper, "I knew Alistair before. He was –"

" _Jealous_?!"

Alistair turned back to the commotion. Leliana elbowed him in the ribs. He winced and turned his attention back to the riddles, rubbing his wounded side.

"No, I'm not jealous of your six-month honeymoon. This isn't about _you_. Are you truly that callous? Or just naïve?" He shook his head. "The Kalya I know and… You used to only _feign_ that uncaring exterior."

She opened her mouth, but had no retort. Her hands dropped to her sides, defeated.

"Your dream was horrible," she spat. She'd intended it to sound sympathetic, but it fell out of her with more venom than she intended. The elf just nodded.

"It was."

"And we only lived it, what, 3 times?"

He pressed his lips into a hard line of assent, eyebrows raised.

The silence was too much. She scrambled to fill it with anything, to work through wherever he was trying to lead her. Talking to him – even fighting – was preferable to the silent treatment. She hadn't realized how much she needed their camaraderie until it wasn't there.

Another ghost whooshed to the front of the room with a loud clap.

"You were broken. _Anyone_ would have been. I wanted to… give you space to heal."

His eyes bore into hers, urging her to continue, daring her. She'd reached the end of her line of thinking.

Finally, she raised her hands in an exasperated shrug. "That's all! I don't know what else you want from me."

Zev bit the edge of his lip considering her, then took a deep breath. "It never occurred to you that emotional exile is how _you_ prefer to react to adversity?"

"What did you want me to do? Stay huddled in the tower with you, shivering and cowering at the outside world?"

Kalya regretted it the instant she said it. Damn her mouth. Zevran eyes narrowed dangerously.

"One can _still_ pose a threat as they heal." He lifted his head to her, unsmiling. "And if anyone but you called me craven, I'd show them how threatening I can be."

Kalya winced, her heart racing. Right as he'd finished speaking, the penultimate ghost whooshed away from Elissa.

When he finally broke his gaze, shaking his head, Kalya thought of all the shit they'd gone through together. Every time she wanted to retreat inwards or lose herself in a bottle since they'd met, he'd been there for her. When she'd been stabbed in the Trials, when she'd taken her first Crow contract, hell, when she'd nearly died killing Guard-Captain Michel in the Pearl, he was right there by her side.

He scoffed but didn't look up at her, spinning tiny holes in his leather gloves with the point of his knife.

"You know, I was so exhausted in the Nightmare that I sometimes drifted off to sleep at the end there, holding you dead in my arms. I dreamed within the dream that you were hugging me back. That you were smiling up at me, telling me everything was going to be all right.

"I am not ashamed to admit it: by the time you lot found me, I couldn't tell dream from reality. I don't know how many more nights my mind would have held. But when I woke on the floor of the mage's tower, I knew it was real. Because when you curled your body around mine… it was better than any dream."

Kalya blew out a quiet breath, her stomach sour. "And I… avoided you. Because that's what _I_ would have wanted."

Zevran shrugged, his eyes still downcast. "It's probably what you _did_ want. Yours must have been a rude awakening, too." A sharp edge overtook his words. "Elissa wasn't sure: were you a teyrna or just a noble?"

Hairs bristled on the back of her neck. "I'm sorry you had a shitty one, but I didn't _choose_ my dream." She knew she should have held her tongue. She didn't want to ruin her apology, but she had enough guilt to bear. Didn't she?

The final ghost whooshed to the front of the room. Alistair and Leliana followed the Warden Commander to the far end of the hall, though Alistair visibly strained backwards to continue overhearing.

Zevran leaned in towards Kalya, voice low and hard. "Do you want to know the worst part of all this? It's not that you never turn my way when we're the only ones left awake under the stars. It's not your pretending not to notice when I jolt up because I've had the dream again, your never whispering that it's going to be okay –words you didn't even have to mean.

"All that I'll forgive. But not _once_ have you ever thanked me for saving your life over and over and over again. It doesn't _matter_ that it wasn't the real you. I believed I was fighting to save you, and I did it time and time again without question."

Kalya wanted to curl up into a tight ball and disappear. To run and join the others with her hands clamped over her ears like she had done as a child. The person he painted didn't sound like her, and yet she couldn't deny that it was. How did she get here? How had she fallen so far from the woman who sat by Riordan's bedside as Warden nightmares ripped him from sleep?

Then she remembered. It was because of Zevran. The horrific Trials. Training with the Crows. Perhaps it wasn't fair to blame him alone, since he maintained her enlistment was inevitable, and his training saved her from a worse fate, but still. After Zevran came into her life, she became hardened, changed. She won't say broken, because she endured. _He_ was the one with a death wish. She'd survived the Trials and built walls to calcify herself.

So, no, she _wasn't_ the same person who carded a sympathetic hand through someone's hair in the night. Not anymore. That person died when compassion was beaten out of her. It sucked, but that was her lot now, and if he didn't like what his Crows had created, that was on him.

Kalya held her tongue. She didn't want to make this any worse, but she sure wasn't going to own up to being the monster he cultivated. Even if it was all true.

"So, Kalya." Zev's voice was even, but it belied a wavering emotion just below the surface, about to break. "Do you want to know why I've been so cold _back_ to you? Why I've been quiet?"

"I think you've made yourself quite clear."

"Not yet. Because every time I look at you, every time I fight by your side, knowing everything I know… I'd still do it all over again, still risk my life for yours. I'd still die trying to save you."

He gulped, fighting back tears, not even trying to hide that he was. "But you know this. You _know_ I'd die for you, Kalya. And still you thank me with detachment. Distance. Just like you do with everyone else. Tell me: how is that working out for you?"


	47. The Urn of Sacred Ashes

Kalya should have been angry. Her heart hammered in her ears, her fists clammy and primed. Every impulse should have been itching to snap back, to verbally eviscerate Zevran until she felt better, or at least until he felt as shitty as she did.

But all she felt was numb. Guilty, sure, yet unrepentant, which just cancelled each other out. And, wow, did she need a drink.

One room remained before she could leave this place and forget everything in it. Oghren had slipped a small leather skin of moonshine into her bedroll before he'd left for Redcliffe Castle. She was less than an hour from lip-tingling bliss.

When Elissa began shouting orders at a specter blocking the exit to the room of riddles, Zevran finally spun away from Kalya's dead-eyed expression, shaking his head.

It was an illusion of Shianni, and she refused to speak to the Warden or let anyone pass. Kalya's hands went to her blades as she approached, but her cousin simply asked if she remembered her past and what was at stake back at the Alienage.

Kalya spared a glance to the others before responding flatly. If the Gauntlet had any sense at all, if this vision was meant to harden her resolve for the path ahead, it would have projected a vision of Riordan. But she got an amulet for her trouble and permission to continue.

Walking into the next room, Kalya could barely stifle a smirk thinking how her role in the trials must have vexed Elissa. It tickled her even more when they were attacked by illusions of themselves and Vision-Kalya landed a quick bruising strike in between the joints of Elissa's armor.

Yes, Kalya was the monster the Crows had created. A quick killing machine with a stone-thick cage around any compassion, any impulse to self-reflect or change – because doing so invited vulnerability, which was death. If she hated what she had become, as she once had when the tendrils of ruthlessness first began to take hold in her training, it had been beaten out of her.

Crows she'd been partnered with were coached to manipulate her in battle, bargain with her, prey upon her decency, so when she'd drop her weapon and extend a hand to a fallen opponent, they'd slice her wrist with a hidden dagger, sweep her legs, and pummel her so savagely, she'd spend days in the infirmary.

What had Zevran always taught, in their private training? _Fighting through pain is strength. Relish the sensation. Let it galvanize you._ What could she say? She was always a quick study.

By now, she could no more change her cold malice than the color of her hair, so what was there to do but welcome it? The ruthless still had allies. Her few Crow friends knew the emotional line they could never cross, knew you could trust your life to someone without trusting them completely, without opening up or hugging it out at every difficult turn. She thought Zevran knew that line, too.

Well, her Crow friends were all dead now, save for him, replaced with this new band of "allies" who ranged from shrugging tolerance of her to outright hostility.

Well, Leliana was kind, but bards could hide their daggers for months until they had the information needed to slice your wrist in a way no infirmary could heal. No hard feelings, though. Leliana surely suspected the same of her.

This was her lot now. Fighting alongside this crew was the best chance she had to avenge Riordan. Vicariously living out her failed Grey Warden dream by working for actual Grey Wardens was just a bonus side-effect. There wasn't room for anything else.

And yet, shivering here in this shit Temple, standing before a gaping chasm in the stone floor, she felt more alone than she had in months. Her training hadn't exactly covered how to deal with _that_.

Elissa barked out orders, positioning them around the abyss. Apparently this trial required the group to fashion a bridge across the gaping void using pressure plates in the floor. It was tedious work, but one-by-one they made it across. Kalya came last, wary that the bridge wouldn't remain without bodies to hold the plates in place. She was happy to be wrong.

Ahead, finally, stood the last chamber of the temple. The others looked on in unmoving silence as Kalya joined them.

A line of fire licked across the room, chest-high, separating them from… she supposed the Urn of the Sacred Ashes, if Leliana's dropped jaw was to be believed.

Charred bones whose corpses had long burned out littered the ground. A lot of unworthy had come before them. Or simply a bunch of fools who'd run headfirst into magical fire. Can't rule _that_ out.

A few paces before the smoldering fire was a small altar bearing an inscription.

"'Cast off the trappings of worldly life,'" Elissa read aloud, "'and cloak yourself in the goodness of spirit. King and slave, lord and beggar; be born anew in the Maker's sight.'"

She spun to face the group, her long brown braid slapping against her armor as she turned.

"That'll be all of us then," she said. Without hesitation, she and Leliana began to… well, they were untying their pauldrons, which was odd, but… No, yeah, they were completely getting undressed.

Zevran must truly have been angry with Kalya. Rather than ogling the disrobing women, his measured glare bore directly ahead.

Alistair's eyes widened, incredulous. His hand went to his sword, but he hesitated drawing it.

With an exasperated sigh, Elissa stepped out of her boots.

"We're not demons, Alistair. Please take off your 'trappings of worldly life.'"

"The Maker doesn't… Are you sure that's what it…"

"It's all _right_ , Alistair," Leliana sang. She folded her unlaced leathers neatly and placed them on top of Elissa's armor. "It's right there in Transfigurations 10:1 'For she who trusts in the Maker, fire is her water. As the moth sees light and goes toward flame, She should see fire and go towards Light.'"

"Yeah, but… it doesn't say we should be _naked_."

The two women glared impatiently at the others, wearing only their smallclothes and breast bands. Leliana was beautiful, long and lean like a halla. But Elissa… She was ripped. Chiseled and angular; it was actually exquisite. Kalya blinked away after gawking just a moment too long.

Slowly, silently, the others slipped out of their… trappings.

There they all were then. Heat rose to Kalya's cheeks, complementing the searing flames that licked the air. Being emotionally numb didn't mean she was comfortable in her own skin.

She ventured a glance at Zevran, who shifted his weight to his back leg, casual boredom masking his anger. He looked as natural naked as he was clothed.

Alistair kept his eyes squeezed tight as he stepped out of his last boot, as if doing so would somehow keep others from seeing him, as well.

When Alistair finally looked around at the group, he let out a loud breath of air. His eyes fell upon Kalya, then her midsection. He squinted at her scar, where Turk had slammed into her with a broadsword, nearly ripping her in two. She had just turned to the side, instantly uncomfortable, when he blurted out…

"You didn't have a scar there before. That looks awful!"

The room went silent. Leliana clapped a hand over her mouth.

Elissa's eyes blazed with raw fury as she turned and marched through the conflagration.


	48. Insidious

Lively music echoed through the banquet hall of Redcliffe Castle. Every table and buttressed column was adorned with the lush red flowers that were hearty enough to bloom even in Ferelden's winter months. The Arl's miraculous recovery had called for a great feast, followed, of course, by dancing and merriment late into the evening.

Kalya couldn't remember the last time she saw people dancing.

Warm though it was with so many cheerful bodies bounding about, Kalya clutched her mulled wine in both hands, defrosting perpetually cold fingers. It was only her third of the evening, much weaker than Oghren's usual swill, but with every sip, the muscles in her neck slowly unknotted and she sank deeper into the couch. _This_ kind of numbness was welcome.

Teagan had seated the Champions of Redcliffe at the Arl's head table for all to toast and thank. Of course, Elissa had seen to it that Kalya and Alistair sat at the complete opposite ends, lest Kalya's passing the salt somehow threaten the Wardens' strong relationship.

Nearly the moment the dessert course was served, Kalya slipped away to a wide, velvet couch in a corner of the banquet hall where lowered ceilings and tapestries muffled the sound, away from the fawning guests where she could hear herself think. It felt disingenuous to receive any thanks. One, she would have done the same even if Eamon hadn't been an Arl, even if she weren't out to avenge Riordan's death, because he'd meant something to Alistair and it was the decent thing to do. And, two, it could be said that she was just following orders. _She_ hadn't saved him. She'd _assisted_ in someone else saving him, as much as Bodahn or Sandal had.

Leliana sauntered over once she'd finished her pudding, swaying her hips lazily, cheeks slowly reddening, as if to match the décor. She curtsied into an intricately ornate chair across from Kalya. The bard was utterly at home amongst the nobles.

"I'm proud of you." She swirled her wineglass delicately by the stem.

Kalya blinked, poorly hiding a bemused smirk. "Why are you proud of me?"

"Be _cause_ … We're at a huge decadent feast, the past week has been quite hard on you, the wine is flowing, and yet… here you are."

A beat passed before Kalya understood the compliment, if that's what it was. She raised her glass and her eyebrows. "Here I am _drinking_ the flowing wine."

"Oh, don't be coy." Leliana waved a hand in the air. "You're probably the least drunk of all of us. Besides Morrigan anyway."

Kalya snorted. "I could not touch a drop for three days and I'd still be less sober than Morrigan."

The witch was avoiding merriment by thumbing through an ancient book in the small corner library across the room. Kalya wasn't sure which of the two of them wanted to be here less.

According to Elissa, it had been imperative that they all attend, possibly so the townspeople saw them as a formidable group – not one or two Wardens who had gotten lucky and could be taken out. Kalya wondered how much longer it would be before the revelers got the message. Camp was a long walk away.

Truth be told, she was pacing herself with the drink because she only needed a capful of the stronger stuff when she got back to her bedroll. What she didn't need was a turned ankle from a drunken stomp through the forest at midnight.

But, as the hours wore on, there was only so much self-control a woman could maintain.

Kalya had just drained the last few drops of spiced red wine when a serving elf ducked out of the shadows to top her off, leaving a full decanter on the small table between them. Some service.

"Just so I'm clear." Kalya was apparently entering her short, chatty state of inebriation. "You're proud I'm not passed out under a table? What's the bar for people you _don't_ respect?"

Leliana smiled. "I'm just glad you're taking it slow."

Kalya lifted her glass and dipped her head towards her friend. "The night is young."

The music changed to something upbeat that was apparently quite popular, and scores of revelers took to the center of the room to perform a dance. Kalya's eyes nearly rolled out of her head. People used many things to forget they were in a Blight, she supposed. Alcohol was much easier. Then again, you don't get a hangover from dance.

Near the head table, Elissa was standing stock straight next to Eamon, nodding emphatically at a snooty looking woman wearing a jacket festooned with gold buttons. Oghren flirted with one of the shorter women at the periphery of the dancing circle, hooting and clapping along with glee. Zevran had cornered a couple near the dwarf and was running his hands up both of their arms as they talked, setting them both into blushing giggles. The man bit the corner of his lip as he watched Zevran speak.

Redcliffe apparently knew how to party.

"Ooh, have you seen Alistair?" Leliana suddenly leaned in, whispering conspiratorially. "He's not going to make it through the night. Watch this."

Teagan's arm was clapped around Alistair. Both men were in quite a state: hair ruffled, cheeks red, and swaying against one another with matching goofy smiles. They almost could have been related.

Another serving elf was having quite a time trying to keep their thick pewter mugs full, when each swell of the music sent the men lurching together and liquid sloshing over the edge.

"Waste of perfectly good wine," Kalya said.

"No, _watch_."

Teagan waved his arms about, trying to get the attention of the small crowd. He raised his mug high above them and exclaimed – still quite regally, somehow – "To the Grey Wardens, for working tirelessly to save the life of the Arl, my brother!"

Alistair raised his mug towards Elissa across the room, bowed at Teagan, then downed his entire drink in several quick gulps.

The surrounding revelers, who had, of course, only taken demure sips from their mugs, burst into laughter, clapping him on the back when he came up for breath. He blinked for a minute, not quite understanding, then joined in the cheering.

"Sweet Maker," Kalya exclaimed, then erupted into snorting chuckles. "Has he been doing that all night?"

"All night." Leliana took a demure sip of her own.

"Wh… How many toasts have there been?"

"I don't know. Seven?"

Kalya blinked. "So… do we think Elissa can carry him home?"

"Maybe her and Oghren together – that is, if _he's_ still able to stand."

"Psh, this is a Tuesday for Oghren." Kalya lifted the glass to her lips.

All this talk of inebriation was making her salivate. The insistent tugging inside her was getting harder and harder to ignore. A whispered promise that Zevran's angry rebukes echoing through her head were a few glasses away from being silenced, that Alistair probably felt great right about now, warm and confident and tingly, and that she could too if she just allowed a few more gulps.

She was still sipping – slow and long, letting the wine roll over her tongue like a fragrant velvet wave – when Leliana interrupted her reverie.

"So… Alistair, uh, knew that scar across your stomach."

Kalya coughed into her glass. "Yeah, I'm not nearly drunk enough to talk about that."

Leliana blinked away.

Kalya couldn't tell if the bard's pronounced pout was due to Kalya's tone or frustration at not getting the tantalizing details. She supposed she _owed_ Leliana for weeks of explanations filling the gaps in Kalya's knowledge – of Andraste, of local politics, of their numerous side quests straying from the path of murdering Loghain. _Well_ , she thought, polishing off the glass, _maybe we can have a heart-to-heart on the walk back to camp_.

In the dizzying revelry, Kalya caught herself watching Alistair from across the room. The way he was glued to Teagan's side like a nervous puppy. How handsome his hair looked, sticking carefree in every direction after carding his sweaty hands through it over and over again. His half smile as he waved in her direction then made his way towards her – oh, Maker, she had been staring a long time.

She dipped her chin, cheeks flaring red, and busied herself with refilling her glass – just a half portion – when she felt him collapse next to her. The weight of the warrior's body on the delicate couch sunk down so low, Kalya nearly rolled into him. Fighting the urge to just let gravity take her, she squared her hips to stay in place.

A few cubes of cheese trickled curiously into her lap, and when she let herself look over, she saw he was holding a silver tray of them, surely snatched from the hands of a confused serving elf.

"I can't do it," he said, head back against the couch, dangerously close to her shoulder. "I really can't. If one more noble asks my opinion on bloody politics, I need you to create a diversion. Or, better yet, just stab me now. Put me out of my misery."

"Come now." Teagan appeared and slapped a hand on his shoulder. "Isn't this a welcome break from tromping through the muddy wilds?"

"Killing _darkspawn_ is a 'break.' Debating with nobles who couldn't govern their way out of an open barn is torture."

"Oh, I know. I can't stand these people." The ruddy-haired Bann winked at the women. "By the way, have I thanked you ladies yet for saving our lives at the Battle of Redcliffe Village?"

"Mm, only three times this evening," Leliana smirked.

"Well, let's make it four." He raised his mug high. "To those in the first line of defense, and to the spirit of dear Tomas. May we live long enough to be worthy of his sacrifice!"

"Hear, hear," Alistair bellowed.

Kalya took in her meager mouthful, while Leliana watched, clucking her tongue.

"It's bad luck to drink a toast to yourself, you kn—Alistair!" Leliana squeaked.

His head was tipped back, once more gulping down the full contents of his mug.

Leliana reached an arm out, but it was too late. His mug was empty. Breathless and a little more wobbly, Alistair wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

"You can't _do_ that," the bard pleaded. "You're going to die! Little sips, Alistair. Little sips on a toast."

Teagan doubled over with laughter, leaning on Leliana's chair for support.

"No, I'll be fine," Alistair gulped. "Really. I have Warden… Strength. Defense? Warden Alcohol Defense."

"Tolerance?" Kalya offered.

"There we go!"

He grasped the decanter on the small table and poured himself another brimming mugful. Butterflies pattered around in Kalya's stomach. His fuck-it attitude, casual flirtation, his generous consumption of libations – something he never dared do at camp – everything reminded her so much of the night they met, she was nearly shivering with nervous energy. She _knew_ it was nothing. She knew his heart was reserved for Elissa, and yet… it was invigorating to pretend.

Someone grabbed Teagan's attention from across the room and, curiously, he seemed eager to take his leave with a low bow. While Alistair filled her wineglass nearly to the brim, Kalya watched the Bann make his way over to Zevran, who was seated in the Arl's lush center chair, wearing the Arl's velveteen robes.

"Kalya, I am so sorry for what I said about your scar." Alistair's tongue suddenly sounded too thick for his mouth, for which he compensated by over-enunciating his words. "It's a lovely scar. Really. I have _loads_ of them."

She couldn't suppress a smirk. "It wasn't… I don't think _I'm_ the one you should be apologizing to."

"And may I just say," he paused for another sip, "that you are every bit as beautiful as I remember. And, Leliana, I-I'm sorry for looking. I only saw… the top. For a second. The flames were really bright and everyone is just so beautiful."

He took a breath to go on, but stopped, suddenly squinting at Kalya, looking very much like Dwarven gears were turning slowly inside his head.

"Wait. You're not drunk." His voice shifted to an exaggerated whisper. " _How are you not drunk?_ I thought everyone– Wait, did I refill your glass? Kalya, I'm so sorry!"

Her eyes suddenly narrowed at the two of them, smirk fallen away. "Honored though I _am_ that you're both guardians of my wine consumption…"

"No! No." Alistair looked as though he'd been slapped. "I just meant… if you were trying not to drink tonight and I just _offered_ it right up… Maker, what a fool I am."

"It's…" Kalya coughed out an awkward laugh. "It doesn't matter. I'm nearly there anyway. Sorry to disappoint you, Leliana."

There was that look of pity, from both of them. The one Zevran used to give when she stumbled off the steps of some Denerim tavern into his arms, having drunk away her promise to meet him for training. _Fuck_ , inebriation couldn't come fast enough.

"Oh, Maker, Elissa's coming." Alistair slid down on the couch. "Hide me. I'm not here."

Kalya ventured a look over her shoulder to see the Warden suddenly pulled aside by a tall woman in the stiff formal attire reserved for Templars out of armor. She had a stern mouthful prepared, clearly sent to this soirée just for this encounter.

"I think you've got a few minutes, if you want to dive under the table," Kalya muttered. Then, to bring some levity, added, "Or just hold up that tray and pose as a serving elf. _Could_ pull it off."

He snorted, considering for a moment before his shoulders dropped, weariness creasing back over his eyes. "Do you know why she's making me talk to all these nobles? Did she tell you?"

Kalya exchanged a glance with Leliana, who shrugged. She shook her head.

"Okay, so, you know my brother Cailan? The king?"

Kalya's jaw dropped. Her mind suddenly seemed too fuzzy to process things. Was he joking? "Excuse me?"

"The king… The late king was my brother. Half-brother. Maric was my father." Alistair sighed. "It was this big secret, I guess, but now it's out, and they're trying to get me on the throne."

Leliana sat silently, eyes widening as the pieces fell into place. Kalya couldn't fit them together.

"Who is?" she asked.

"Eamon! And Elissa." He cradled his head in his hands, even as one still clutched a half-full mug of wine. "I'm trying to tell them I don't know how to rule Ferelden. Look at me! Bad things happen when I lead."

Leliana and Kalya said nothing as Elissa approached his side.

"Alistair," she sang his name the way a mother might to a misbehaving child in public, "there are some more people I'd like you to meet, while you can still remember names."

"Names?!" His head shot up, sending wine spilling over his mug. "I don't know anyone's names as it is!"

"I meant _ours_. Let's leave the wine here."

He sat the mug on the small table, defeated, and the two disappeared into the boisterous crowd.

In the silence, Kalya struggled to process what it all meant. King Cailan. At the Battle of Ostagar, Alistair hadn't just lost Duncan; he'd lost his brother. She remembered standing by the well in Denerim's Chantry courtyard when she'd heard the news.

Then suddenly a spark. Alistair had tried to tell her, hadn't he? That second night after they were reunited, just before he'd started his patrol, there was something he'd wanted off his chest. "History lesson later," he'd said. _Much_ later, apparently.

" _Guerrin_ ," Leliana said, startling Kalya in the silence. She swiveled around to look for the Arl, but no one was there. "I can't believe I didn't put it together. The queen was Rowan Guerrin before she took Maric's name. She's Eamon and Teagan's sister."

"Is… that Alistair's mother?"

Leliana shook her head. "He'd have been raised in the castle then, wouldn't he? There were rumors of a bastard, but… well, this makes it easier."

"Easier?" The room was wobbling ever so slightly, undulating softly with each beat of Kalya's heart.

The bard slowly explained the coming Landsmeet – something about how having a king-candidate would help bring Loghain to justice legally, by diplomatic vote. But it was no use. Kalya's eyes kept glazing over every time she came close to grasping why they couldn't just murder Loghain in his sleep or why anyone would force someone to be king against their will.

Instead of asking aloud, however, she just kept drinking and nodding, heavy-lidded. She doubted it would have made more sense sober.

The buzz of the celebration was winding down, but not quickly enough. Discussion turned to lighter fare when Leliana noticed Kalya's thousand-yard gaze, and she wisely steered the topic to Zevran's now full-on flirtation with Teagan. It was amusing to watch.

The world was now lilting Kalya more noticeably. If Elissa didn't dismiss them soon, she might need to make an escape. Well, no, the long walk back to camp alone probably wasn't wise. Curling up in a spare bedroom, though? _That_ would be divine, even _with_ a hangover made worse by Elissa inevitably scolding her the next day.

Kalya was just deciding which hallway to venture down when Leliana straightened up to someone approaching. She looked over her shoulder dizzily to find the entire group making their way – zigzag though their path was – to their quiet corner of the banquet hall.

As Elissa approached, arm delicately threaded through Alistair's, a lock of dark-brown hair escaped from her braid. She tucked it clumsily behind her ear, missing the first few tries. Was she tipsy herself? My, this _was_ an occasion.

Teagan sidled up beside them, clapping an arm around Alistair, his leather jerkin unbuttoned halfway.

"Elissa, I must offer one more time." He took her hand in his with an unsteady bow. "Please stay in the castle, just for tonight. We've plenty of rooms for all."

Everyone murmured agreement, even Morrigan, whose crossed arms and side-eye confirmed she was even more over the revelry than Kalya.

"No, no, we have an early day tomorrow," Elissa said. That was the moment Oghren decided to lean his full weight on the small end table, toppling with it to the ground.

"Or perhaps we're sleeping in. But we couldn't possibly impose."

Zevran raised a jewel-crusted goblet, still wearing the Arl's robes. "However, if you have any _tents_ to spare."

"Of course! How many do you need? Bedrolls too?" Then Teagan added with a smirk: "I'll trade you for my brother's chalice and robes. I'm afraid he's very particular."

Zev sauntered close, then bowed low, so the man could disrobe him personally. "Two will be just fine. Our Warden Commander has _charitably_ allowed us bedrolls."

Elissa blinked slowly, catlike, at the derision. Alcohol appeared to have mellowed her, if she even caught onto his sarcasm.

"Right away," Teagan said, bowing coyly in return. With a look that lingered a moment too long on the elf, the Bann retreated down one of the halls Kalya had been planning for her escape.

:::

The walk back to camp was predictably a shit show. Kalya hooked arms with Leliana, both masters of looking less drunk than they were. Still, Kalya kept feeling herself veer sideways before her friend corrected her. If ever group of bandits had easy prey...

Morrigan, the sole sober one of the whole lot, tromped out in front, looking irritated that everyone's lives were in her hands. Or maybe that was just her normal face.

Zevran carried the tent canvases, singing along to some lewd tavern shanty with Oghren. Taking up the rear, Elissa practically had to hang off Alistair – either to keep herself standing or to prevent him from running off into the woods to look for mabari to pet, as he kept insisting he needed to do.

About a kilometer outside of camp, Oghren spun around to the girls and implored thickly for Leliana to talk to him, whispering – louder than most people talked – that he had a secret.

That left Kalya and Zevran to walk side by side, together, but also… very not. Whatever, Kalya was feeling jubilant enough from the libations. He wanted her to talk to him more, didn't he? So she'd talk.

"You and Teagan, huh? Shame you couldn't spend the night in the castle."

Huh. Her words sounded more acerbic than they had in her head.

Zevran stared at her for a beat. "What can I say? I'm attracted to power. And alcohol weakens us all, does it not?"

She narrowed her eyes. Damn the wine, fuzzing hidden meaning behind Zevran's words. "Is that supposed to be directed at me?"

"Does it _sound_ like it's directed at you?" His face was the picture of innocence, which infuriated her even more.

"You know, you're drunk too," she spat.

"Indeed I am. Grateful to have some company for once?"

Kalya stopped in her tracks on the dirt path. "Fuck. You."

The others turned around, curious, before averting their eyes. Elissa and Alistair passed. The Commander's raised eyebrows suggested that if they were too foolish to keep up, they'd deserve whatever they got, standing alone in the wild.

Zevran leaned close – a calculated risk, since everything in Kalya was screaming to sock him where he stood. His breath smelled of spiced Brandy, a sardonic smile on his alcohol-blushed face.

"How much farther can you fall, _mia cara_ , before there's no one left to lift you out?"

Then he spun on his heel, only slightly unsteady from the drink and the weight on his back, and sauntered into camp.


	49. Whirling Dervish

Oghren had been crouching at the firepit with his flintrock for the better part of a quarter hour before Morrigan stomped over and sent a fireball to the center, bursting the wood into flame. The dwarf was nearly startled off his log, and the others laughed boisterously at the scene. Even Morrigan cracked a smile.

Kalya just blinked. Her head felt full of velvety-soft stuffing, much too heavy. Fuck Zevran. She could be mad at him tomorrow. For now, she just needed to decide which voice in her head to listen to – the one that said she could go to sleep right now, or the one that insisted on one tiny capful of Oghren's Dwarven Moonshine.

Zevran was busy erecting his tent – a wobbly business in his state. She supposed she ought to do the same, but if they were leaving the next day, what was the difference? Wait, had Elissa said they were leaving tomorrow?

She squinted into the sky, wondering how late it was. Maybe it was early still, and she could sleep off an extra capful's effects. The moon hung high to their east. It had shone bright out the banquet hall window right when the sun went down. Where had that window pointed? How far had it traversed?

"Kid, if I knew any better, I'd think you didn't want any."

Kalya blinked slowly up at Oghren, who was holding out a capful of Moonshine. Bodahn had carted over a small barrel and placed it on the table next to the dwarf. Leliana was nervously clasping a capful of her own, and Elissa and Alistair were giggling, clanking theirs together in cheers.

Kalya nearly had to rub her eyes. Elissa giggling. Not a good look for her.

"Yeah, I think you've had enough."

"No! No." Kalya took it from his hands, cradling it like a baby bird's egg. "Thanks."

He shuffled back to his upturned log and poured the potent brew into his mug. Maker, the dwarf was a beast.

"Bottoms up!" He smiled wide.

Kalya lifted her capful to Leliana, who nodded, took a deep breath, and downed it in one small gulp. Then she erupted into wheezing coughs. Oghren slapped his knee, bellowing a great hearty laugh.

Kalya tossed hers back then rushed to her friend's side, tripping slightly over her own feet.

"Ugh, Maker that was awful," she choked. Even in the dim firelight, Leliana was looking quite green. "I think I'm going to be sick," she muttered, low enough for only Kalya to hear.

"Wait right there," Kalya said thickly, then stumbled to her pack and bedroll. Zevran watched as she approached and pocketed a small vial. He took a breath to speak, but gulped it away. Good. _Ass_.

Elissa was laughing hysterically with her head on Alistair's shoulder when Kalya returned to the fire circle. She leaned close to her friend.

"I'll help you to your tent," she whispered. Her words slurred together into one, but the bard gulped unsteadily, nodded, and rose with Kalya's help.

Oghren lifted his mug to them as they passed. Out the corner of her eye, Alistair also rose unsteadily, extending a regal hand down to Elissa, as if he were asking her to dance.

Once she maneuvered them both inside Leliana's tent, Kalya procured the small vial.

"Mm, no, I can't drink anything else," Leliana protested, sloppily pushing back on Kalya's outstretched arm.

"No, I promise. It'll be quick." She removed the dusty stopper.

Leliana whimpered, but tipped it back shakily. Nearly the second the elixir was swallowed away, the vial dropped from the woman's hand.

"Holy fuck!" Leliana grabbed her head, suddenly massaging her temples.

"It's just… it's a Lesser Potion, so I don't think it takes it _all_ away."

The woman blinked hard. "No, it's… Maker, I'd heard potions can sober you up, but I've never actually let myself…" She winced and sucked in air through her teeth. "I didn't know hangovers could come on so quickly."

Kalya smiled weakly. "Some water then?"

Leliana suddenly looked out the canvas flap and back at the vial, nervous. "Elissa. She takes inventory on these."

Kalya shook her head. "Haven. She wasn't in the room when I... She didn't know I had it."

"You were saving it." It wasn't a question. "I don't know what to say. I'm so embarrassed. Just… thank you."

The elf just smiled. "Don't be embarrassed. You'll get a tolerance."

The woman barked a laugh, then winced again. "I'm never touching that stuff again."

"It grows on you." Speaking of… Kalya crouched towards the flap. "Do you need water?"

Leliana fished around her pack before procuring a leather skin. "I'm good. I'm gonna… try to sleep off the rest of this hangover."

Kalya let the canvas fall when she heard her name. She peeked back in, nearly losing her balance crouched there on the ground.

"Thank you," Leliana said softly. "You'll get some sleep soon?"

"Soon."

Kalya concentrated really hard to stay upright as she stumbled towards the three sitting around the fire.

Zevran looked up from his copper mug as she approached, eyes creased with concern. _Hypocrite_ , she thought. _You need the numb just as well as I_. Morrigan was there too, leaning close to the fire. Kalya suspected she was too proud to admit she was lonely – lonelier than she was full of hatred for a group of drunk idiots apparently. Oghren belched. Elissa squealed a giggle somewhere behind her.

Wait.

She spun on the dirt. Too fast. The ground tilted suddenly, and she fell hard on her hip. Oghren hooted.

Elissa's tent. A footprint bloomed in the side of the canvas. A man's low groan.

Kalya saw red. She scrambled up to her feet, every muscle shivering for a fight. But she was in no state. The depth of her powerlessness washed over her in a nauseating wave. She wanted to scream.

Zevran stood. She stormed past him, grabbing Oghren's empty mug and filling it to the brim. It was the last thing she had control of. The only thing. Even Morrigan looked uncharacteristically uncomfortable.

"Kalya." Zevran sounded sad. Fuck him.

"Kid, how much more are you gonna have?" Oghren chuckled, a tinge of worry on the edge.

"Till I can't feel feelings."

She chugged the swill. Her mouth numbed as the liquid ran over it. Right when she finished, gasping for air, Elissa let out a throaty moan. Kalya threw the pewter mug at the ground, and it ricocheted off a stone.

"Kalya!" Oghren bellowed. "For fuck's sake!"

She spun on her heel and stomped into the woods. Fuming. Moonshine acted fast. The world spun dangerously around her. The light of the moon was leaving little track marks across her vision. Fuck it. She wanted to get as far away from these assholes as possible. First, she'd find a bush to sleep under. Then, when she woke, she'd fucking walk to Denerim and kill Loghain herself. And if she wandered off a cliff on the way, maybe the fucking witch with thick silvery hair would save her again. _The world needs more of your thirst for vengeance_. She was thirsty, all right.

A wolf howled in the distance. Kalya lolled her head side to side. The woods were opening up into a clearing. How long had she been walking?

A line of bushes rung around the edge of the clearing. Great, step one: fucking down.

She crouched next to the bush's soft verdant leaves. And got sick into them.

A pair of hands clapped on her shoulders. She was too weak to fight back, and instead collapsed into them.

"Kalya." Zevran.

"Fuck." She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. It was coming again. She lurched forward and expelled the remaining contents of her stomach.

To her dim surprise, the elf brushed his hands through her sweaty hair, tucking it away from the sides of her face.

"Mmfine," she insisted once she rocked back to her heels.

"You don't look fine," he said softly.

"Well, I am," she gulped, taking pains to speak right. "Going to Denerim."

"Without weapons? Because it _sort_ of looks like…"

She shook her head thickly, impatient. Suddenly, she really wanted to get to sleep. Under _another_ bush preferably.

"It's not safe out here. And I think you know that."

Thick realization dawned on her. "Uh, _you're_ the one with a death wish, remember? I have a plan."

"Do you?" he asked quietly, nodding to her arm. "You know wolves can smell blood."

She looked down. It was scratched to fuck.

"What? When did…"

"Kalya." He blew out a long sigh. "Let me bring you back to camp."

"Fuck! That." She leaned forward, nearly falling in her own sick, when he grabbed her arm and pulled her close.

"Please keep your voice down. You can come back now. They're… they're done. We need you close. We're leaving for the Brecilian Forest in the morning… maybe the afternoon."

" _Need_ me?" she snorted. "Someone else can't keep watch while they're fucking?"

"Then _I_ need you. Okay?"

She narrowed her eyes.

"Look," he took a deep breath and offered a sad smile. "I'm sorry I snapped at you about Teagan. I'm not a perfect drunk, either. I dislike that part of myself. It's why I stopped originally, and why I shouldn't flirt with that life again. Nor should you." He took her hands in his, bloody though they were. "I'll help you. We've gotten past the _il tremore_ before. Together."

Her stomach lurched. With an ounce more energy, she would have fought him, denying she needed his help with anything, least of all ceasing the one thing that got her through the night. For the moment, the cravings were gone, the insistent voice quieted. See? She was fine. But _fuck_ was she tired.

A slow nod. Zevran lifted Kalya to her feet. She clumsily tried to wipe sick off the front of her leathers, but it didn't do much. He looped her arm around his neck and steered her back to camp.

:::

Sunlight brightened up the white canvas of the tent, making Kalya squint.

Tent?

Her head jerked to her right, which she instantly regretted. Pain lanced through her temples, thrumming fat and thick. Zevran remained asleep.

Her hands clapped to her sides. She was in her smallclothes.

Movement woke Zevran. A pit formed in her stomach. Well, a second one.

Blinking sleepily at him, she must have looked horrified, because he barely stifled a laugh and then stretched like a well-rested cat. Then he shook his head.

"We didn't," he said simply. "Come on now. Give me a little credit. I didn't want you roasting in the sun."

"I just thought… 'Cause I'm…"

" _Mi scusa_ , but your leathers were a bit…" He cleared his throat and winced, looking like a hangover of his own was blooming. "Anyway, they should be dry now. I'll fetch them."

She felt her face burn as he sat upright and began lacing his own leathers.

"I didn't mean…" she started. "I just like to keep track, is all."

Once she was dressed – and after downing about two liters of water – she emerged from his tent, feeling quite foolish. That horrid voice had apparently awoken as well, burning hot in her ears: _You know what would_ quiet _this shame and numb that stomachache_ …

The sun was at its peak in the sky. The day was half over.

Everyone sat around the huge wooden table, many heads cradled in hands. Steam curled out of copper mugs. Only Morrigan sat upright, trying not to look too smug. Alistair caught Kalya's eye and immediately blinked away. Was that embarrassment? Or jealousy? Or was everyone just too hungover to function?

Elissa's voice was singsongy, cheerful as she laid out the next day's travel plans. Today would be for rest and preparation, she announced, as if it were a generous gift from their magnanimous leader.

The day passed in a painful blur. Kalya skipped her training, instead wandering through the forests, partly to "hunt," but mostly to escape the painful armor-hammering back at camp that split her head with each strike. Despite tromping heavy-footed through the brush, her travels led her to a Hertoa large wild boar she somehow didn't scare off. Sinking her knife into him was more of an accomplishment than she expected from this day.

She hoisted it on her shoulders and trudged back to camp, where Leliana offered to help prepare it. She'd been falling over herself to do little favors for Kalya all day, which normally would have made Kalya feel itchy, but skinning pigs was tedious work on her most dexterous of days, so she allowed it. As they portioned out thick strips, she wondered if the bard knew what had happened after she had gone to bed. She certainly knew whose tent Kalya _emerged_ from, since Kalya's was still crumpled in a pile of canvas. Perhaps Leliana's smiling silence was an additional unspoken favor for the potion last night.

 _Now I owe her_ two _stories_ , Kalya thought to herself. _Guess I'll have to do it_ without _being shitfaced_. It didn't even sound convincing inside her own head, but she forced belief into the thought just the same.

After dinner, Zevran helped her erect her tent, despite her polite protests that she could do it herself. He just smiled and continued tying his knots. The voices inside her cackled their temptations louder and louder. She smiled sweetly back at him.

Then, they each retired.

And the moment Kalya heard Zevran snoring, she snuck out into the moonlit night.

The campfire still crackled. Oghren was asleep at the dinner table, head on his arm. _No one tries to stop_ him, she thought bitterly. Why should she feel guilty for sneaking around, when he got to imbibe out in the open, with everyone's blessing?

She wiped off his mug with the corner of her linen bedshirt. Meh, whatever bacteria deigned to live there would be murdered by the Moonshine anyway.

The gush of liquid from the barrel startled Oghren just a bit, and he let out a loud snort. Kalya's hand shook with anticipation of that first sip. It was weird feeling the same jolt of energy that she usually felt before a great battle. Perhaps that's why she enjoyed fighting so much. Chasing that exhilarating high.

This wasn't a sipping Moonshine. When she tried a small mouthful, she choked and sputtered, nearly waking the whole camp. _Down the hatch_ , she thought with a shrug.

Letting the alcohol take her felt like settling into a hug. Instantly, her brain was firing responses of safety, warmth, being completed. Zevran didn't have to know her sobriety started just one day later than he thought. She'd quit tomorrow. Well, maybe when they got to the Brecilian Forest. Best to start fresh somewhere new.

Kalya found herself staring, dazed, at Elissa's blurry tent for several minutes before she realized she was waiting for signs of movement inside. There was a restless shuffle of blankets, but she knew enough about Wardens' notoriously bad sleeping habits from Riordan. That was normal.

There was Alistair's tent. Was he inside? Somehow, imagining them making love while stone sober was hundreds of times worse. Planned. Scheduled. Both of them looking forward to nightfall to carry out their sordid secret. Ugh. No. It was probably nothing. They were both alone. Right?

One drink was all she needed. She knew that. If a capful or two a night was all she'd relied on for months, an entire mug was more than enough. _Too_ much. But when she saw herself reaching back for the barrel's spout, she was powerless to stop it. It was like watching someone else. At first, the gush of liquid spilled all over her hand. She stifled a giggle, popping the hand into her mouth, then straightened the mug underneath the stream.

There it was. That rush of anticipation, a little slower this time. Muted. Fuzzed like the edges of the world under the light of the moon.


	50. Scraping the Barrel

"Well, isn't _this_ something?"

Holy fuck. It was hot. It was _hot_ , and Kalya's mouth felt like she'd spent the night sucking on a wool sock. Ugh. Picturing that lurched her stomach. A burp of warning bubbled to the surface. Kalya gulped it down, but she didn't feel _awful_. As awful as she should. Which didn't really add up unless… Yeah, she was still super drunk. Fuck.

"I wish I could say I'm surprised."

Kalya rubbed her eyes sloppily, opening one in a squint to see Elissa standing before her in full armor. It was early still. No one else was outside their tents, but she could hear shuffling within. Oghren must have stumbled to his bedroll during the night. Smart bastard.

Blinking at the scene, Kalya had apparently curled up underneath the tree-stump table and slept in a puddle of moonshine and mud. She did _not_ smell amazing.

"We leave in exactly an hour. After breakfast. Hey, you're first cook today, right?"

Kalya gulped hard, suddenly realizing that vomiting two nights ago had been a blessing. Sleeping with a belly full of two mugs of rotgut was infinitely worse. If she was this drunk _now_ , she'd probably have the worst hangover of her life by noon. Marching in full armor under the hot sun with a heavy pack was going to be torture.

Elissa just shook her head with an incredulous smile and returned to her tent.

The others were beginning to emerge right as Kalya shakily got to her feet. The ground jerked backward, and suddenly, she was on her knees. Jagged rocks on the ground bit into her bare legs. Fuck.

The look on Zevran's face killed her. Sadness. Disappointment. Betrayal. Then, when she tried to get up again and failed, anger. He stormed to her side and jerked her up by the arm.

"Hey, watch it!" she shrieked.

Alistair and Leliana looked over from where they had been folding up their tents. They didn't look away.

"Why do you do this, Kalya? Does _this_ feel good? Is it worth it?"

"What d'you care?" she spat.

"What do I _care_? If you can't see why I care, you haven't been listening to me."

Kalya's mind tumbled over itself. The cadence of an argument fell into place, but not the logic. "I thought I didn't _talk_ to you enough."

He shook his head, incredulous. "What does _that_ have to do with anything? Kalya, you have a problem."

She sighed a loud growl and wrenched her arm out of his. The motion almost sent her falling again, but she righted herself at the last moment.

"Go guilt someone else." She stormed off towards her tent.

"Guilt?!" He shouted, throwing his hands in the air. "I make you _guilty_ because I'm trying to save you from yourself?"

"Keep your bloody help!"

"Fine! Drink yourself to death since _that's_ what you want!"

She ignored him. Untying the tent was going to be difficult with fingers that wouldn't obey her brain. Fuck. Breakfast. She dropped the half-dismantled canvas and stomped back to the firepit.

The moment she uncovered the dried strips of meat in their storage basket, she was hit with a wave of nausea. She turned her head to the side for fresh air.

"Kalya," Leliana materialized crouching at her side. She whispered conspiratorially. "Elissa has all the potions, but I owe you. I can make one from the first elfroot we stumble upon… Or I can get Morrigan to—"

"No, no," Elissa sang, tying her bedroll to her pack. "No need to help. Kalya's got breakfast this morning, don't you, Kalya?"

"Yes, _shem_."

Leliana's eyes widened. Her hand dropped from Kalya's shoulder.

Ignoring them both, Kalya slapped the strips of meat on the sizzling metal grate. She counted – and double-counted – only enough servings for the others. She was ravenous, of course, but her stomach churned a tempestuous warning.

Elissa could force her to cook but not to _eat_. Getting yelled at for not eating was preferable to getting yelled at for "wasting food" by regurgitating it on the table.

When the group took their places at the table, an awkward silence fell upon them. Even Alistair knew better than to try and break the tension with idle chatter. Kalya swayed in the quiet, gripping the edge of the tree stump. Was it usually this hard to keep upright? She reached for her leather skin of water, and after three unsuccessful tries at getting it unscrewed, she finally gulped it down as everyone ate.

"Alistair," Elissa said, cutting off a large chunk of meat and stabbing it happily with her fork, "did I ever tell you about our family's serving elves? One of them, Tevon, worked the grounds for as long as I can remember, but he had a _terrible_ drinking habit. When I was twelve, Mother found him black-out drunk in the larder. Father was _so_ grateful that the elf did the honorable thing and quit, so they didn't have to go through the embarrassment of dismissing him. Don't you think that was noble?"

Kalya's cheeks flushed hotter and redder with every prissy syllable. Adrenaline coursed through her veins, setting her into shivers of anticipation. She screwed the cap on her water canteen.

"Hey, Zevran," she said. Everyone at the table visibly tensed. "Remember when every other human we met was a denigrate rapist fuck? Guard-Captain Michel, Vaughan, Turk – _can't_ forget Turk…"

"That's enough, Kalya." Zevran's eyes didn't raise from his plate.

"I wonder how Teyrn Cousland disciplined his _female_ serving elves?"

_Slap_.

Kalya tasted blood immediately. She grabbed her cheek. The sudden imbalance nearly set her tumbling off her log. Elissa was on her feet, breathing heavily. Smirking at the sight, Kalya was surprised the warrior had used an open palm. Something dark inside her hoped she'd do it again, just to give her an excuse…

"I'm not my father," Elissa said, straining to keep her voice even, "I would have kept Tevon on to pay for making a mockery of his duties. To feel the base shame of burdening his coworkers." She set both hands on the table and leaned in. "But if you ever talk about my family again, I'll finish the job started on your little gut scar."

:::

The unseasonably warm sun had just begun its arc across the sky. Under normal circumstances, it might have been a beautiful day, but hiking in full armor, under heavy packs bursting with gear, with no forest cover forced the group into miserable silence, mopping sweat from their brows every couple minutes.

Kalya's head still felt full of fluff, the world loose and unsteady beneath her trudging feet. Still drunk. She wiped a runny nose with the back of her sleeve. A dim part of her hoped the full hangover wouldn't break until after lunch, so she'd be able to stomach some nutrients that might help offset it.

That wretched voice continued echoing in her ears, this time with the promise that relief was only a swig from Oghren's canteen away. Hair of the dog and all that. Every time the idea burbled up, she stomped it down with vague disgust.

The scene at breakfast had sent a bolt of adrenaline through her, energizing her mad scramble to pack her tent as the others marched away, under Elissa's orders. Feeling unwieldy under the weight distribution of a sloppy pack job, she was sure she'd left something behind while she jogged to meet the group headed for the Imperial Highway.

Jostling about had sent a trickle of sick up the back of her throat, but she swallowed it away with a gulp of water from her canteen. The others turned back every few minutes, she suspected only to check curiously whether she was still there, not worry over her actual well-being. It wasn't quite fair, was it? She'd made a fool of herself, sure, but didn't Oghren black out each night? Hadn't Elissa just been shit-faced in front of a ton of nobles?

Kalya watched as Morrigan broke into a jog to meet Elissa at the front of the group. Elissa passed the witch something from her pack, then took it back before the others caught up. Kalya had one eye squinted, then the other, then the first again. Nope, no idea what was going on.

Zevran spent the trek staring at the ground in front of him. Elissa's little story stung Kalya more when she imagined how relieved Zev would be if she _did_ simply dismiss herself. If he no longer had her as his charge, his burden. Well, she'd tried, hadn't she? Okay, wandering into the bushes with no weapons in the dead of night wasn't the _best_ of plans, but he didn't _have_ to stop her.

Leliana's timid looks back over one shoulder hurt the most. Had she been hurt when Kalya used the word "shem"? When she'd said every other human was a rapist? Surely Leliana had come across horrible human men _and_ women, just as Kalya had known there were alcoholic elves, even before she herself...

Yes, okay, she had a… difficult relationship with alcohol. She'd known it in Denerim, and she thought she had a handle on it recently – just as Zevran still allowed himself a drink or two after his own addiction – but clearly she did not. But a couple drunken fuck-ups and now she was a pariah? The punishment didn't quite fit the crime.

Two hours into the hike, the punishment got steadily worse. She'd long since finished the water from the three leather canteens in her pack. Her mouth tasted of bile, and she'd sweat so much, she could imagine the alcohol left in her system was congealing into a disgusting paste. Swallowing her shame, Kalya bit her lip and sidled up to Leliana.

"Hey, d'you…" Fuck. This slurring was getting tiresome. "Do you have any canteens left?"

Regret darkened Leliana's features. When she didn't say anything for a moment, Kalya's heart jerked sideways thinking she truly _had_ hurt her friend with her asshole mouth. But when the bard made a subtle glance at their leader, the pain suddenly read for what it was: guilt.

"She has them," Leliana whispered. "I swear – I tried to keep one hidden, but she knew we each had three."

Kalya gulped, her throat sandpapery. So that's what Morrigan had been doing – getting her water rations and then returning them to lock-and-key. This revenge ran fucking deep. How would the rest of the group be punished for Kalya's transgressions?

The corners of Leliana lips pinched downward, looking truly tormented.

Kalya didn't want her friend getting in trouble, but she was desperate. "Can you tell me what elfroot looks like?"

Leliana blew out a breath. "No."

"What, she's forbidden you from describing plant life now?!"

Oghren turned around at the commotion, then turned back without a word.

"No! Because elfroot looks like a thousand other plants that are just as likely to kill you." She shook her head. "I'm… I'm keeping an eye out, but the path is going to be pretty barren until we're a few days from the Brecilian Forest. We barely have any potions as it is. All the more reason—"

"Yeah, I know. All the more reason you shouldn't be wasting potions on a lost fucking cause."

"No, Kalya! Not everyone is out to provoke you." The bard looked scandalized. "All the more _reason_ you shouldn't have wasted your damn potion on me. I feel awful about it."

Kalya blinked, then gulped down her shame. The fogginess in her head was a curse. For a moment, she yearned for the hangover to just wash over her and be done with it. She deserved the pain. "Don't. Please. You needed it."

Kalya wanted to stay. Wanted to apologize to her friend, wanted to do _something_ , but she was so ashamed, she just stumbled ahead without another word.

Another painful couple hours passed. Still weaving, Kalya was beginning to feel a dry pounding at the base of her skull that was going to get a lot worse before it got better. A lake in the distance shimmered up from the nothingness, and suddenly everything wasn't so bad. With a dreamy smile she'd never have allowed sober, she imagined dunking her entire head into the cool waters and taking a huge gulp. Maybe she'd completely submerge herself, since her leathers were still covered from the moonshine-mud slurry from last night's "bed."

But when they were a few dozen meters away, Elissa stopped the group's marching with a series of quiet, stern orders. Each of them rocked from leg to leg uncomfortably – some wandering behind a nearby outcropping of rocks to relieve themselves – while Elissa trotted off to the lake with her pack.

Alistair slowly made his way over to where Kalya stood. Unless she was imagining it, he was making a concentrated effort to avoid eye contact.

Well, fuck it. It was a big fucking lake. She didn't have to hop in right where Elissa stood, she thought, starting off towards the shore. Alistair took a wide step, blocking her path.

"Um…" was all he offered.

Her jaw dropped, incredulous. "What? Seriously? Am I a prisoner again?"

He scratched the back of his head, looking at the horizon back where they came. "I'm in a really difficult position here."

" _You_ are?"

He finally met her gaze. "Kalya, you shouldn't have said those things to her."

" _She_ shouldn't have said those things to _me_! She called me a drunk!"

"You _are_ a drunk." He said it so simply, so matter-of-factly, Kalya felt like he'd punched her in the gut. "Kalya, none of us are perfect, but… I-I think you should apologize."

"It won't do anything," she muttered after a moment. Hearing him say aloud what she hadn't wanted to believe sent shame wrapping tight around her like a noose.

"We're all worried about you. I don't know what she'll... I just think you should try. Please."

"Try," she snorted. _Just like I tried to stay sober one fucking night_? Trying wasn't good enough.

Alistair just looked back at the horizon. His hands were balled into fists.

Kalya's body chose that moment to set into set off into hiccups. Fucking perfect. Alistair looked down at her with such heartbreaking pity, it was all she could do to storm away.

Her head felt like a dry seed split by the sun. She could feel her heartbeat pounding behind her eyeballs, threatening to obscure her vision. There was no way she was going to make it another hour without water.

Not like she had any pride left to speak of. Kalya stumbled over an unseen, blurry rock right when she approached the Warden. Great start.

"Kalya," Elissa sang. "Always a pleasure." She continued filling the canteens, ankle-deep in the lake.

Kalya took a deep breath. "Elissa, it was wrong of me… to say those things about your father. I'm sure he's perfectly –"

" _Was_ ," she corrected. Of course. The fiery battle at Castle Cousland. "And yes, he was. Perfect in every way."

Humiliation seared her cheeks. No going back now. "Well, I'm sorry. I was obviously drunk, and I didn't mean…"

"'Was'? So you're not anymore?"

"I…" She swallowed a hiccup away hard. Elissa noticed.

"Kalya, allow me to cut to the chase." She leaned over like they were just two girls gossiping about fight maneuvers. "We don't _need_ you. Yes, my bleeding-heart Alistair has a soft spot for you, and you're a capable rogue. But we _have_ rogues. You're… extra. _Sten_ was extra. And to be quite frank, your attitude and your little alcohol problem are distractions we don't need.

"Still, I'm nothing if not a benevolent leader." She picked up a full skin from her pack and handed it over to the parched elf. "Thanks for the apology. And thank Alistair for making you do it."

Kalya unscrewed the cap and tipped it back, drinking voraciously. The cool liquid felt like heaven, rehydrating her swollen tongue.

"Now, I've entertained your absurd tumble into self-ruin because I thought we needed all the help we could get. But now that I see how we're faring without Sten, how much less hunting is required, how much easier traveling smaller can be, I'd just as soon lop off the rotting limb. Unless the limb can keep it the _fuck_ together. Am I making myself clear?"

Kalya nearly coughed out a mouthful of water trying to restrain herself. "Well, it's subtle, but I think your message got through, yes."

An odd smile quirked Elissa's lips. "Funny."

Kalya tipped the canteen back into another large gulp.

"Ah-ah. I'd slow down if I were you."

Kalya righted it, wiping her mouth with the back of one hand.

"Since you can't help be so _funny_ , that one now has to last you through lunch. I'll see about another if you can watch your fucking mouth. Is _that_ too subtle for you?"

With a smile, Elissa slung her satchel around her back and motioned towards the group – a dismissal.

Kalya stomped off, fuming and hoping Alistair would have the decency to abandon the rear before she got back there. Then she stopped suddenly, not wanting to disobey yet another unspoken rule. She held up the leather, eyebrows raised. Wasn't Elissa carrying all canteens on her person?

"Keep it," Elissa called back, shaking her head. "Let it be one _more_ thing the others resent you for."


	51. Corrupted

The water lasted Kalya all of half an hour. As the sun beat down from its highest point in the sky, Kalya's stomach began burbling and roiling painfully. The group now kept tight next to Elissa, requesting their allotted refreshments with increased frequency. Their leader made no sign of stopping for lunch.

Needled trees dotted their dusty path, which now wound between boulder formations, occasionally curling the party around the wide lip of a steep cliff's ledge. Rounding one corner, they found themselves on a slick wide rock face between two stone walls that jutted to the sky in neat geometric columns.

The group skidded to a cautions stop, held back by Elissa's outstretched hand. A human stood in their path. Through bleary eyes, even Kalya could tell the meek-looking traveler who stood opposite them was no innocent. She drew her weapons the instant Elissa did, and within seconds, chaos broke out.

A dozen bandits emerged from behind the prickly trees and angled columns of rocks, outnumbering the group almost two-to-one. Kalya silently thanked the Maker when both Zevran and Leliana moved back to fight in a clump with her, while the rest moved to take out those attacking from the front.

Plenty of bandits mistook the party's numbers for weakness and died for their hubris. But though it was an easy-enough fight, Kalya's body chose now to betray her. Her mind was too full of fog, pain lanced too deep into her skull, and her movement was just a moment too slow. The Drunk Orlesian didn't exactly segue well into the Hungover Orlesian.

Kalya curled sideways as a woman lunged forward, her rapier fully extended. Kalya flipped her dagger's grip so the blade was just below her pinky, and sliced backwards across the woman's neck. The attacker fell to her knees just as a dwarf popped an elbow across Kalya's face from the left. Kalya shuffle-stepped into the crumpled body, tipping off balance. The dwarf reared back with a roar and tackled into Kalya's midsection, twisting the elf's ankle from where it was planted, and sending them both skidding dangerously close to the cliff's edge.

One dagger fell from Kalya's outstretched hand and clattered into the rocks 30 meters below. Kalya found herself pinned on her back between impossibly strong thighs, squirming as the dwarf wrenched the other dagger from her hand. She raised it high above her head for the killing blow… right as a bloom of red wetness widened across her leathers.

Zevran wrenched his short sword back and kneed the body to one side, lowering a hand to lift Kalya up. His chest heaved, breathless but without urgency. It was then Kalya noticed the quiet. The fight was over.

She slipped her hand in his and let him lift her to sitting, but pulled away suddenly, clapping it over her mouth when her world lurched.

The tackle to the gut, the turned ankle, the hangover that waited until bloody _now_ to flip her insides into a merciless roil – it hit her all at once. Clammy sweat beaded on her forehead. Kalya rolled to her stomach with a mumbled apology to Zev and peered over the cliff's edge, about to be sick.

Her dagger glinted in the jagged outcrop below. She focused on it, slowing her breathing, willing the sick back down. She had a handle on this. She just had to make it through lunch. She was starving, and yet her stomach pitched and spun, heaving up another burp of warning. She gulped it away.

Close to the base of the cliff, and apparently where the switchback path ahead led, another lake glistened, deep and reedy, nestled in a circle of pine trees. Kalya was beginning to form a woozy plan to double back and dive in after the group passed – Alistair would surely be too far ahead to physically stop her – when Elissa announced they were breaking for lunch.

Perhaps their leader had a shred of decency after all. There had certainly been days where the march lasted dawn until dusk, where the monotony of trudging through the wilds made it easy to hide covert pulls from her "water" skin. The tickle of a craving danced on the back of her throat, and she wet her cracked lips, thoroughly disgusted with herself.

It appeared the bandits had hidden their camp just behind the wall of jutting geometric rocks. A small fire still burned.

The group was silent as they prepared to eat, exhausted from the hike and the sun. The fight was arguably the easiest part of their entire morning, but the summation of the shitty, dehydrating day was catching up to them fast.

Kalya didn't doubt they harbored significant resentment towards her for having to ask permission for each sip of lukewarm water.

Sheepishly, she yanked her dagger from the dead dwarf's hand, slipped it back into her boot, and limped over to the fire with the others.

Elissa balanced the basket of cured meat on her lap with an odd grin, then placed the pieces one by one over the scorching fire. It was at least a relief not to hunt anything.

Hunched over on a boulder, Kalya cradled her head in her hands, willing the pounding to subside. Willing her tumultuous stomach not to tip over the edge and just let loose its contents. She couldn't bear watching the meat sizzle and pop, its smells equal parts tempting and torturous.

The lake. If she could just get to the lake – fuck, she could at least vomit in peace if she had to. She just had to make it through lunch.

Conversation began to pick up in anticipation of the meal. She peered sideways through her fingers to find Zevran's worried eyes lingering on her before blinking away.

"I'd been saving these for a special occasion," Elissa said proudly, sitting back from the sizzling grate, "but now is as good a time as any."

Kalya finally looked up. Bone marrow. From the boar. Blistering and sweating, pooling with grease under the sweltering sun.

"Elissa, do you…" Alistair had a distant look on his face, head tipped like a dog's. "There's something…"

Elissa grabbed one, snapped it with a sickening crack, and brought it to her lips, slurping and sucking the marrow from the center of the glistening bone.

That was all it took. The wicked concoction in Kalya's stomach surged up through her esophagus. She spun sideways on her boulder and vomited all down her leathers and her legs. More was coming. She clapped a hand over her mouth.

Wobbling to her feet, the world was somehow both razor-sharp and fuzzed into slow-motion. At the edge of her vision, she saw Zevran rise, holding out an arm and calling after her as she staggered away, but she ignored him, hobbling towards the rocky switchback path.

She held her breath to tamp down the sick, half-skidding on the tiny pebbles, until she simply cut straight down the zigzag path, towards the lake surrounded by trees. It was a miracle she kept her balance, breaking into a jog on a sore ankle at the bottom of the slope.

Trudging through the reedy shore, she felt her stomach revolting against her. The water was chest-deep when she plunged her head beneath the cool surface to retch underwater. For fuck's sake, she had to be nearing an empty stomach soon. Wading deeper, away from her mess, a sudden hiccup inhaled water to her lungs, and she emerged, coughing and sputtering.

Dizzy heat threatened to topple her, but it seemed to calm down when she squeezed her eyes shut. Kalya took a huge breath and submerged again. The water plugged her ears. In the blessed silence, she could almost forget her humiliation. Arms extended, she concentrated on the thrumming of her heart, slowing back to normal after the riot brought on by heaving and shame. Her lungs began to burn, but she relished it. She deserved it. She wasn't sure which was worse – Elissa banishing her from the group or forcing her to remain with them, face pushed into her mess like a mabari who'd had an accident on a Rivaini rug.

If she could have stayed here, underwater, for hours, she would have, but right as her lungs felt fit to explode, a chorus of muffled shouts echoed above the water. Fuck, she _suspected_ Zevran was on his way, but had they _all_ abandoned their lunch? It was a long way from dinner. Though, not likely that anyone had an appetite left after her display.

Suddenly, a splash from the far edge of the lake. How had they already made their way around her? Kalya broke the surface and gasped as fresh air flooded her lungs.

Her bleary eyes caught figures making their way towards her in the water… but it wasn't the party, who were still cutting down the hill. With a gulp, Kalya rubbed water from her eyes. Darkspawn. The lake was surrounded. Her heart jerked sideways in her chest, and she spun around to see an ogre four times her size towering above her. She reached for her daggers and found only one. _Fuck_.

On instinct alone, Kalya juked left then dove under the surface right as the beast swiped a hand where she was just standing. Down in the murky water, she couldn't see much, but she kicked her water-logged legs, hoping to minnow between the orge's wide stance. Her ankle throbbed angrily at the end of each whipping kick.

The muddy water swirled her sideways. A weight collapsed on her back, knocking bubbles out of her mouth and pushing her deeper, as massive fingers closed around her torso. Her lungs cried out, threatening to betray her by inhaling a full breath of water. It was going to drown her in the thick cage of its hand.

Just then, it whipped her out of the water. Her neck surely would have snapped if she hadn't been squeezed so tightly. She tensed into rigidity, still fighting to breathe.

The muck made Kalya's leathers slippery, and when the ogre bent its head back with an angry roar, she wriggled out the arm holding her remaining dagger.

A fire bolt slammed into the ogre's huge index finger, courtesy of Leliana, and the beast reflexively bent it and its thumb back, squeezing Kalya tight with the remaining bottom three fingers.

Shouts from the party below muddled together. If they were issuing a warning to duck or attack, she couldn't make it out.

The ogre jerked her close to its gaping maw with a roar of anger. Its stinking breath whipped strands of wet hair wildly about her head as Kalya forced her eyes to remain open. She raised her dagger, hoping to find an opening, but finding it no match for rows of long, savage teeth dripping with sludge.

At the end of its bellow, the ogre clamped its teeth into a chunk of Kalya's midsection – an angry miscalculation it was about to correct when another of Leliana's fire bolts landed right between the eyes. Its jaw released and head whipped back. Kalya surged with adrenaline, feeling no pain, which might have saved her life...

The ogre wasn't going to give a second chance. It opened its mouth again, aiming to rip Kalya's head and shoulders off her torso. But in that moment, intense focus crystalized her attention on a weak spot. At least she'd go out taking it down with her.

The moment before the ogre's head swung down for the kill, Kalya surged her blade deep into the roof of its mouth and twisted. The grip around her went slack. The curved blade of the dagger must have severed something important in the orge's stunted head.

The monumental beast crumpled into the lake, sending waves splashing in all directions. Under the undulating water, Kalya shimmied from its loosened grip, ridiculously lucky again that it didn't fall forward and crush her. The numb wound in her side sent an odd jolt of pain through her core, and she paddled lamely to the surface with her opposite arm.

Kalya gasped when she broke through the surface of the water. Through a rheumy filter, she saw Zevran trudging towards her, the corpses of darkspawn littering the lakeshore.

Tears filled his eyes as he approached, and when he was close enough, he looped both hands under her shoulders and dragged her to her feet. She blinked, curious and woozy, but allowed him to steady her.

The inky black pulses radiated from her torn midsection, equal parts rot and a peculiar surge of… power. Alluring and intoxicating and corrosive.

She gulped complaints away. She didn't deserve to be doted upon. She'd put the whole party in danger.

The others jogged up behind Zevran, stopping suddenly when they got near. Kalya gulped again, her head drooping involuntarily, bracing herself to be chastised.

Ankle-deep in the water, Zevran held Kalya at arm's length, frantically searching her eyes, taking in her entire body, as if he could scarcely believe she was still whole. Shit, she couldn't either.

"Kalya?" A faraway voice. Alistair? "Kalya, can you hear me?"

She squinted curiously back at the somber group. It was getting so hot.

"Yeah," she lied. "Yeah, it's just… He just nicked me in the side. I'll be all–"

Her throat went dry. The world suddenly shifted green-grey. The smudged pulses emanating from her gut belched and burbled, singing and surging through her blood stream in insistent spurts.

The creeping stain of power called to her. Every part of her fading consciousness welcomed it, invited it, craved it.

Kalya pitched into the shallow water, spasming with convulsions.


	52. Conscripted

Zevran's stomach dropped, as if weighted with a stone. For a moment that felt like an eternity, he stood frozen, paralyzed in the shallow reeds, his mind stuttering and tripping over itself trying to calculate whether this was reality or nightmare. He'd already lived this horror over and over, where the debt of Kalya's soul – consigned to him the moment he broke protocol by taking her under his wing rather than turn her immediately over to the Crows – was finally paid in full, while he stood gaping.

It was Leliana who finally roused him from his frozen stupor, knocking into him as she and Morrigan rushed to Kalya's aid. Silently and efficiently, they lifted the still-convulsing elf out of the murky water and laid her on the shore. Zevran scrabbled to Kalya's side. His movements felt wrong, impotent, like those dreams where actions as simple as walking or grasping a weapon were impossible tasks.

Blue balls of light rolled and grew in Morrigan's hands even before Leliana could rip open Kalya's soggy leathers, revealing dark, splotchy patches of sickness that looked so wrong on her too-pale skin. Kalya's eyes had rolled back in her head, and for all Leliana's strength, the bard was having a difficult time keeping her still enough for Morrigan to attempt a stronger healing through skin contact.

Walls of darkness closed in around Zevran's periphery. He drew in a stuttered breath, chest heavy and heart aching, and he wrenched a crumpled silk from his pocket to began dabbing lamely at the gaping wound on Kalya's side. Ribbons of redness roped with sticky black stains drained far too quickly from the elf's delicate body. There was just so much blood.

It wasn't until Leliana grabbed onto his shoulders – firmly but not unkindly steering him away from their work – that he realized he was shaking crying. He brought a quivering hand to his mouth – a specter of habit from the early days of his training, back when a foolish 8-year-old boy-elf thought doing so could hide his emotions, before such sentiments had been beaten out of him.

Oghren materialized next to him. The dwarf didn't say a word, but a moment later, when Zevran absently lunged forward again, aching with every fiber to envelop Kalya's tiny broken frame in his arms, the dwarf blocked him with a stocky, strong arm and pressed-closed lips.

The convulsions slowed, and Zevran couldn't tell whether the healing magic had just begun to take hold or if Kalya had suddenly taken a turn for the worst. The sheer powerlessness that flushed through him like a hot wave of shame nearly crumpled him to the ground, when Kalya's face suddenly contorted in pain. Her eyes bulged and her back arched at an unnatural angle, which would have been hard enough to witness as it was, but the fear behind her wild gaze hitched Zev's breath.

Suddenly, he was back in the Observation Room above the Trial of Crows. During her days of torture, he'd seen her pissed off, cowed, and broken, but never _scared_. Hearing her wail and watching her claw at her throat sent a pipe of bile up his throat, and he grasped Oghren's forearm as he shakily lowered himself to the ground.

It was there, crouched in the cold mud, that Zevran finally slowed his breathing and quieted his mind enough to spare a glance at the two Grey Wardens, if only for momentary, selfish distraction.

Alistair's arms were clapped tight around his torso, and he swayed slightly, his eyes averted from the scene. His head shook arhythmically, as if agreeing with someone unseen that this wasn't really happening. Zevran felt for the soldier… though his empathy hardened a bit when the notion flitted through his mind that the man's shell-shock wasn't from reliving Duncan's death, but rather trying and failing to steel himself for the coming loss of a former lover.

When Alistair had blurted out at the Urn that he'd… _known_ Kalya before, Zevran had truly been nothing more than surprised. He'd suspected they were friends ever since Kalya tried to back out of Alistair's assassination, and no one in Antiva is so austere as to assume their lovers haven't loved many before them. But Alistair was so… The two were very different.

Jealousy was a mask Zevran knew better than to apply, but there was something so sacred and intimate about a paramour being present in such an untamed soul's final moments. If Kalya regained consciousness – and he prayed, _prayed_ that she would, despite all he knew of the taint sickness and blood loss – would she call out for either of them?

Zevran nearly continued this miserable line of thinking for one second more, as light seeped from the eyes of his beloved, when Elissa did something that snapped his mind to odd clarity. Something just beyond his grasp pricked his bardic intuition.

Elissa's lips were pursed into a tight line of concern. That in and of itself wasn't a tell. She was a harsh and difficult leader, but she didn't want Kalya dead. Whatever years of diplomacy her Noble parentage had instilled had left her smart enough to recognize that Kalya, from alcohol to insubordination and all the addictions in between, was a skilled and audacious weapon.

No, it wasn't that. Was it the awkward way she clenched her arms over her stomach? Was it the overt nod she gave to Leliana after the bard went rifling through her backpack for Lyrium Potions?

Morrigan's power was fading fast. Leliana kept steadying the apostate as she threatened to topple from her crouch at Kalya's side. Kalya's hands fell from where they weakly scrabbled at her own neck. Zev could see blackness roping through her veins, up her neck, and into her face.

He shuddered, fighting to stay focused. Something was there. He just had to find it. Or was he grasping for meaning where there was none?

The arch in Kalya's back subsided, and her head lolled to one side, twitching in syncopation every few seconds as seizures rippled weakly through her core. Zevran's chest felt as if it were ripping apart. He closed his eyes and held his breath. It wouldn't be long now. He'd been here enough times now to know what hollow loss came next, and here he stood – as always – helpless to stop the inevitable.

Then, he saw it. The furtive glance just a beat too long from Elissa to her only equal. An appraisal that criminals and cons learned early to mask, but one that a stuck-up noble who was honest to a fault had never learned to hide. Whatever it was, Alistair didn't meet her eyes, lost as he was in his thousand-yard stare. What was she trying to signal to him and no one else?

"Elissa!" Leliana's brow dripped with sweat, and she held up a fat green bottle with a wince, somehow urgent and sheepish all at once. Zevran recognized the shimmering liquid immediately. A Greater Health Poultice.

"Bloody void, yes!" Their leader returned with a panicked shout.

This time, the look she gave the other Warden was instantaneous.

Realization hit him like a blow. Zev had read it wrong before. Not a signal. A check. Whatever it was, Alistair was the only one Elissa was studying, and he wasn't picking up on whatever she feared he might. And she was authorizing Potions without a second's hesitation. Which could only mean…

Zevran was on his feet before he'd put all the pieces together, but he had to move. He rushed to Alistair's side.

"Please, Alistair," he huffed. " _Please_. There must be something you can do."

Zev felt Elissa's gaze burning into him before she turned to give some order to Leliana.

"There's nothing," Alistair muttered, rocking back and forth. "Not again. Maker, I can't go through this again."

Zevran gulped, his resolve steeling, even as it tore at his pride to say the words.

"Alistair, you loved her. I think you love her still. You're the only person who can save her. I can't save her. Please."

Alistair turned to the elf, as if noticing him there for the first time. Zev leaned to catch his eyes again when the broken man's gaze broke and landed on the gruesome scene of his lover eviscerated.

"You have to listen to me, Alistair. If you knew that something could have saved Duncan, wouldn't you have tried _everything_ you could? Even if it were… something Elissa didn't want you to do? Something only the two of you knew."

That was it. The final card in his hand of Wicked Grace. If he was wrong… well, he'd failed Kalya enough times before.

A flicker of realization lit behind Alistair's eyes.

"Yes. Y-yes, there is!" He started to jog towards Kalya, then stopped, about-faced and marched back to his pack, muttering half to himself, half to Zev. "We're not supposed to… It's meant to be different."

Zevran's heart nearly leapt out of his chest, but he kept his demeanor neutral. They weren't done yet.

With a goblet and an empty vial in hand, Alistair pulled a small screw-cap amulet from around his neck, then jogged past Zevran, past Kalya's weakening form. Towards the crumpled corpse of the ogre slowly blackening the pond. Zevran followed just as Elissa started after them.

"Alistair, stay back," she cried. "There could be more of them!"

All three knew there weren't.

Without pause, Alistair trudged through the tainted muck and slashed into the ogre's leg with his greatsword, holding the vial up to the wound.

When enough sticky liquid filled the glass, Alistair waded to where Elissa and Zevran stood on the lakeshore, blurting out words Zev didn't understand but that swelled his heart full of hope.

"Kalya's doing the Joining," he said, marching past her.

"We don't have the–" Elissa started, but Alistair cut her off, nodding at the ingredients clutched in his arms.

"Archdemon blood, darkspawn blood, goblet. We _have_ to, Elissa."

To Zevran's ears, it was more a boyish plea than a command. He followed the man close behind his right shoulder, fiercely protective over Kalya's potential salvation. Still, a spark of anger flared in his chest at Alistair's prostration. Was he not the ranking Warden? _This_ man was going to be a king?

"Absolutely not." To her credit, it looked like it pained Elissa to say the words that stopped him in his tracks. "Alistair, you _know_ Duncan would have forbidden this. This isn't something Wardens do as – as a _cure_."

Alistair was struck dumb at the mention of his mentor. He blinked at the vials in his arms, and Zev knew his window of opportunity was running out.

"Alistair, you couldn't save Duncan. I know you won't let Kalya slip between your fingers, too, _not_ when you have the power to save her." It was cruel and manipulative to invoke the unknown dead man, but Zevran was scrambling to double-down. His eyes welled with tears, his voice cracking with emotion. "It kills me that I can do nothing. How can you stand there with her salvation in your arms?"

"Elissa's right," Alistair's eyes cast downward, shifting with nervous energy. "The participant must be willing. Even then, it might not work. I lost three men in my Joining, Elissa one in hers. Duncan said their souls weren't truly pledged. If Kalya's unconscious, there's no way she can–"

"This is a _life sentence_ , Zevran," Elissa boomed. "You can't understand. It's not a mercy. It's an irreversible –"

"If you _don't_ do this, she'll die. She's dying now! Am I to understand your only hesitation is the off-chance she lives and, what, _resents_ you saving her life? Granting her dream? Alistair, can you live with knowing you stood idly by?"

A long silence passed between the three of them, Elissa fuming as Alistair closed his eyes, looking as if he might be sick. When Alistair began shaking his head, Zevran thought he'd lost the weak boy-king. His knees felt suddenly shaky, and he didn't realize he was drawing his shortsword until it was out of its scabbard. For whose gut it was intended they'd never find out.

"Elissa?!" Leliana gave a panicked shout. The three whipped around to find Morrigan wilted with her head in her hands and Leliana pumping hand-over-fist against Kalya's chest.

In an instant, the two men were at Kalya's side as Leliana fell away, exhausted. Kneeling next to the elf, Alistair bit the screw-tops off the vials and sloshed the black-red liquids into the metal chalice and over the sides. Too gingerly, he lifted Kalya's slack head, pouring the mixture into her open mouth and down her chin.

"Join us, brothers and sisters," Alistair recited quietly, as if in prayer. Maybe it was. "Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant. Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be forsworn. And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten and that one day we shall join you."

For several long moments, Kalya's body laid perfectly still, a ghastly vision with skin so pale, beset with roping black veins. Zevran's hand again found its way to his mouth. He wasn't breathing. None of them were.

In a flash, Kalya's head jerked backwards. Her back arched violently as her elbows dug into the ground beneath her. A squealing gasp escaped her lips like her throat was closing in on itself, as if she was struggling to breathe while being strangled. Zevran crashed to his knees on the other side of her, helpless, yet powerless to keep his hands from cradling her sweat-slicked face in his hands. Alistair clamped his large hands over her tiny shoulders, holding still the strength of her wild torqueing motions. Her eyes bulged wide, but all Zev could see was pale whiteness.

Then she collapsed. And Zevran's world went black too.

A roiling surge curled within her. Kalya despised the Fade so, but something was different. She was different. A powerful melodic aria played in her head as the vortex in her core coiled and pulled, gaining momentum. Flashes burst against the smoky sky. Leathery wings. A piercing yet muted screech. The song called to her, whispering, in a language she somehow understood, the promise of more power than she could ever imagine, if she only succumbed to the cataclysm inside her. The lick of danger surged through the foggy visions against the sky, familiar and forbidden. The susurration of its might more intoxicating than anything she'd yet survived.

Kalya awoke as a gasp was ripped from her throat.

The sudden calm was deafening. Dim candlelight illuminated Zevran's tear-stained face as it startled at her movement, then washed over with a strange, knowing relief that seemed unmatched to her near fucking death.

Because how actually _was_ she… The last thing she remembered was staggering out of the shallow lake, taint sickness from the ogre's bite spreading through her like a stain. After that, it was all rending flares of pain and tendrils of oily blackness threatening to suffocate her in the Fade. _Succeeding_ in suffocating her…

Unless…

Her heart leapt beneath her ribcage. It didn't seem possible, but neither did surviving the taint. She swallowed down a near giddy bubble of laughter when she realized what Alistair must have done for her. And how had Elissa permitted…?

It was only then, squinting in the murky light, that she realized she was in a bed, in a room. Zev made no attempt to mask his reddened eyes searching hers for something she couldn't place.

"How do you feel?"

"I don't know," she lied.

She felt _good_. Ravenously hungry, maybe. And her muscles throbbed with want to spring out of bed and… just run. She needed to fight something, needed to fuck something. If it were true, if she was really a fucking Grey Warden, she needed to be just about anywhere else in Thedas right now than a dark, mopey room. Most of all, she needed a dri—

When _that_ urge flitted through her mind, a blanket of guilt finally sobered her mood and flushed her cheeks with a deep heat. Then, a stone of dread plunged in her gut. Why was Zev the only one here? What price had the group paid for her fuck-up?

"Where's the rest—?"

"Sleeping. I'm—I couldn't sleep. Not until I knew..." Zevran's voice cracked with emotion. "I still can't believe you're here. I watched you die this afternoon."

Kalya gulped humiliation into silence. Muffled bar-patron cacophony from the downstairs tavern's too-early hours made its way under the crooked doorframe. In the awkward silence of her room, Kalya's racing mind was unable to settle on what shamed her more, the memory of how she'd acted, what she'd said, how she'd endangered everyone… or the fact that all she could think of, looking into Zevran's raw, red eyes, was how damn near giddy she was to have finally, _finally_ become what she'd wanted for so long. What Riordan had seen in her.

"You know," Zev cleared his throat, "it's funny. During our training, when you told me of your dream to become a Grey Warden, I actually took pride in my role of impeding that path. I gloated, knowing I was helping you live longer, not just to survive the Trials and the Crows, but years beyond the short life-expectancy of your average _selfless_ Warden."

If he hadn't looked so sad, she might have thought he spat the word, as if it were a curse.

"Funny how things end. Now that I've failed to keep you alive as a Crow, I can truly fail you in all ways. By begging our friends to give you this gift, I've forfeited your life, conscripting you to a slow, painful death by darkspawn taint."

Kalya shifted in the rough sheets. Her skin felt itchy. Zevran's eyes pierced through the darkness, holding onto hers for as long as she could bear it, until she had to break away.

"I've loved – truly loved – only three people in this world. Three people trusted me, confided in me, as I led them into the Crows. Three people have died in my charge, more or less by my hand. Until now. Until one came back."

Welled-up tears finally spilled over in unabashed lines down his face. Damn him. The sight of his anguish made Kalya's stomach flip over on itself. Why this? Why _now_? She wanted to sink into the bed and disappear.

"I wish I could say I did it for you," Zevran exhaled bitterly, shaking his head, "but it seems I'm more selfish than I thought. I doomed you… just to spend a few more short years fighting by your side. I can hope that, in that time, you'll forgive me this last great failure."

The weight of what he'd done – the gift he'd given – suddenly, confoundingly seemed too much for him. Kalya worried at the corner of her lip as Zevran collapsed in her lap.

His voice muffled against the threadbare woolen blanket, repeating over and over again: "Kalya, I'm so sorry."


End file.
